


Turnabout and Fair Play

by PurpleHydrangeas



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amanda Grayson Lives, BAMF James T. Kirk, Christopher Pike Lives, F/M, Female James T. Kirk, Kid Fic, Married Couple, vulcan is saved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-06 06:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleHydrangeas/pseuds/PurpleHydrangeas
Summary: Nero once trusted Spock, as he says, with his wife and unborn child. Now, he expects Spock to do the same and watch as his planet implodes along with his family. Nero forgot to consider one fact across his twenty-five years of planning: Jim Kirk, no matter her universe, won't let evil triumph without a fight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't connected to my ST series. In fact, this is connected to nothing sensible. I had a really vivid dream the other night in which a female Captain Kirk stood in the midst of the battles in the 2009 reboot and screamed at her counterpart, "Grab the red matter, Jim!" And then she looked at me and said, "There's no way this would have happened in my universe. Let me tell what did."
> 
> It was a Scrubs-esque demolition of the fourth wall. In my dream, she outlined everything. I wrote down what I remembered when I woke up and found that what I wrote had this sort of snapshot feel. 
> 
> So yeah, I should have probably labeled this as crack. Anyway, basic facts about this Jim that didn't make it into the story. She's got some obscene number of PhDs, and lost out on a postdoc when Pike found her drowning her sorrows in a chocolate mudslide. He'd had custody with Winona during her childhood.

"Captain, we're being hailed.” Despite her disbelief, Uhura did her job with efficiency.

The entire bridge inhaled. Jim knew countless lives hung in the balance, and she was determined that the scale would tip in their favor.

Pike nodded his assent.

The speaker on the other end was a Romulan, sat back in his chair with ease. “Hello.”

Pike didn’t return the smirk, “I'm Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking?”

Jim’s teeth clenched as the other man leaned back in his chair, “Hi Christopher, I'm Nero.”

“You've declared war against the Federation.” There was nothing in Pike’s tone that reminded Jim of the parent she loved. This was the warrior, the leader, the man who stopped at nothing to do his duty, “Withdraw. I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location.”

“I do not speak for the Empire.” The smirk on the Romulan’s face grew. “We stand apart, as does your Vulcan crewmember, isn't that right, Spock?”

Spock held his stylus carefully. “Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted.”

No, we're not.” Nero chuckled, “Not yet. Spock, there's something I would like you to see.”

“Clarify.” Spock demanded.

“I once trusted you with the life of my wife and unborn child. How fortunate that you will now do the same.” Jim felt Nero’s gaze crawling over her body. She stared back boldly. Her blatant breach of Romulan custom did not seem to offend Nero, unfortunately.

“Do forgive me for spoiling your news, Jemima.” Nero asked, “Or don’t. It hardly matters.”

“I am captain of this ship, Nero.” Pike leaned forward as though he was going to end the transmission, “My crew acts under my command.”

“Captain Pike, your transporter has been modified to allow only Cadet Kirk to beam aboard my ship.” Nero announced, “You have no choice but to send her if you want to attempt to save billions of lives. You may join her if you wish. It will hardly matter in the end.”

Nero’s smile became something of a snarl. “The needs of the many, Spock, outweigh the needs of the one.”  
            As the view screen went black, Pike stood. “I’m going alone.”

“He'll kill you, you know that.” Jim insisted, stepping away from Spock’s station. “I’m going myself.”

“Jemima.” Pike rubbed a hand over his face, “Your weaponry expertise is needed to disable that machine. That is an order.”

“I will.” Jim assured him, knowing that the fastest way to disable everything would be to do so on Nero’s ship. After all, she didn’t have three doctoral degrees for nothing. “I’ll do it at Nero’s console.”

“Captain, I must protest.” Spock’s paleness was clearly evident under the lights of the bridge. Jim could feel his fury in her blood. She felt his terror in her soul.

“We don’t have time for this!” Jim grabbed Pike’s arm, and stepped onto the pad. As the scanner recognized her DNA, it began to activate. Jim was glad she had not underestimated Nero. He was leaving nothing to choice, nothing to chance.

“You are on report, Cadet!” Pike gripped her arm forcefully, clearly trying to pull her close in a defensive position for their landing onto a hostile ship.

Jim used his momentum to shove Pike bodily off of the platform. Just as her vision faded, she saw Spock vaulting forward.

She raised her hand in a ta'al.

*          *          *

“Kirk has landed, Sir.” Chekov announced.

“Communication is completely disabled, Captain.” Uhura looked down at her station, as though this act of sabotage on the part of Nero was a personal failure. 

“There is every possibility that at least one member of the crew would never survive the jump. The trajectory would require a significant fall before engaging the—” Spock stood, and clasped his shaking hands behind his back.

“The chutes, yes.” Pike agreed, turning his attention to the Comm. “Dr. Puri, report.”

It was Leonard McCoy’s voice that replied, “Doctor Puri was on Deck Six, sir.”

Pike paused for a moment, “Then you have just inherited his responsibility as Chief Medical Officer.”

“Tell me something I don’t…” McCoy cleared his throat, “Captain.”

Leonard McCoy gave his report with efficiency, even if his speech was littered with inefficient idioms. Spock focused inwardly, doing all he could to break down the wall Jim had erected between them. He did not wish to alarm T’Aria. She was particularly sensitive at present.

The Enterprise’s computers surged. The consoles flashed. Their view screen flickered. Spock knew that there could only be one cause.

Captain Pike’s discourse with Dr. McCoy ended abruptly as their captain demanded, “I want to know what she’s doing now.”

“We have no communications connectivity, yet.” Their Communications Officer barely looked up from her frantic tasks as she imparted this news.

“Mr. Spock?”

Spock could feel the heat of a phase as though it had just blown past his own ear. “Cadet Kirk is—”

She had just dispatched someone who would have harmed her. Their connection was muffled, but some things could never be hidden. The rush of emotion had revealed a stray thought. It was enough.

 “She intends to undertake a space jump without the appropriate gear and safety protocols once she has retrieved something. She intends to land on the drill platform.”

“Meet her there.” Captain Pike ordered, “Sulu, go with him.”

Before Captain Pike had finished issuing the order, Spock was racing for the shuttle, helmet in hand. Sulu, for his part, did nothing to slow Spock down. He would have left him behind had he done so.

As they prepared for the jump, Pike’s voice filled their ears. “I don’t know what she did, but she disabled the drill. Make sure it stays that way, Commander.”

“Sir.” Spock replied, just before he stepped calmly out of the shuttle.

She was falling. She was falling. No. Not falling. She had jumped.

Spock followed.

*          *          *

McCoy spoke before Spock and Sulu fully materialized. “Where the fuck is she?”

“I remind you, Doctor, that you are the bridge of the Enterprise, not in a barroom.” Spock removed the suit, and handed it to the ensign charged with its care. “Cadet Kirk was not present on the drill platform. Her jump was interrupted. One can only assume that she was caught.”

“Don’t pull that shit.” McCoy hissed, administering a routine medication against his neck with force, “You know you should have gotten on that ship.”

“The High Council has ordered a planetary evacuation.” Pike ignored Dr. McCoy and addressed Spock, “T’Pau has informed me that the first wave of shuttles will be heading for bunkers on Delta Vega.”  

“Clear the Pad.” Spock decided, “I’m beaming down to the surface.”

“No.” Pike stepped forward to prevent his actions, “You are First Officer of the USS Enterprise. You will not abandon your duty, Commander.

 “I can only assume that Cadet Kirk is being held hostage under inhumane conditions.” Spock informed him, “I will contact Nero on the surface and demand a trade.”

“We’ll get her back. We’re going to follow Nero. Chekov?”

 “Ready, Sir.” Chekov answered, “It appears that Nero is headed to Earth.”

 

*          *          *

“You think to flee?” Nero sneered, “You attempt to thwart justice?”

“I prevented the genocide of six billion peaceful Vulcans.” Jim spat, her blood landing on the floor between them. The straps restrained her, but she would never be docile or compliant.

“You threw my red matter out of an open airlock!” Nero screamed.

“It burned up in Vulcan’s atmosphere.” Jim added, “Isn’t that great?”

“It merely hastens the demise of Earth.” Nero exhaled, his nostrils flaring, “When the Federation is on its knees, nothing will save Vulcan. Spock will observe the destruction of his home planet, and will suffer the pain of a broken bond. I have waited twenty-five years. A few hours more is nothing.”

“What has Spock ever done to you?” Jim wiggled her fingers, trying to keep her hands from shaking as the cuffs tightened.  “I know he sometimes wears socks with sandals, but really, is that worth all this? You seem to have some kind of sociopathic crush on my husband.”

“In my time, where I come from, this is a simple mining vessel. I chose a life of honest labor, to provide for myself and my wife who was expecting my child. I was off-planet, doing my job, while your Federation did nothing and allowed my people to burn while my planet broke in half.” Nero leaned over her as the table tilted into a horizontal position, “And Spock, he didn't help us. He betrayed us.”

“For twenty-five years, I waited to repay him.” Nero snarled, “You, Jemima Kirk, will be the instrument of his betrayal.”

“Veruul!” Jim spat, spitting her blood in his face, sending a tooth with it.

Jim’s world spun as the weight of Nero’s fists met her body.

 

*          *          *

He was the acting captain. Christopher Pike had been relieved of his command for going after Jim.

He was the acting captain. Jim had no way of knowing this yet, but the second she stepped back on the bridge, she would be assuming that mantle as per the chain of command. He had no intention of obeying their orders.  

To leave Jim in Nero’s hands was beyond him.

“Chekov, check our course and prepare to drop out of warp as we approach Earth.”

“Aye, Commander.” The young man colored, though the mistake was understandable enough, given that Christopher stood beside him.

Christopher was quick to correct the young navigator. “That’s your captain, Chekov.”

“Aye, Captain.” Chekov stammered, as his fingers fumbled across his workspace. “Apologies, sir.”

 

*          *          *

Jim was glad that she never left home without a weapon in her boot. They had taken her phaser and her comm. She had gotten this far, however, on sheer skill and preparedness.

She had to get off this ship. Jim rounded a corner quickly. She had to get off the ship. Her objective thrummed like a mantra in her blood.

“You there!” An officer growled from twenty feet away, “Halt!”

The phaser pointed at her heart rather put a kibosh on that plan.

She did the only thing she could. Running forward, she head-butted the bastard and stole his phaser. It wasn’t the most elegant of moves, but needs must.

“I will kill you!” Her boot crushed his hand as he cursed her soundly.

 Jim fired as he tried to pull her to the floor.

Her adversary fell silent. His grip on her leg went slack.  

 Jim ran towards the escape pods. She couldn’t understand all of the Romulan being shouted down the speakers above her head, but it was clear that her earlier sabotage of the drill had been discovered. If only she had been able to restore communications with The Enterprise.

Jim jumped into an escape pod.

*          *          *

Jim turned down a corridor. The ship, she had discovered, was Vulcan. Everything on the ship was labeled in Vulcan and then Standard, even in this empty cargo bay.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Carefully, Jim adopted her most logical tone. She knew for a fact that she sounded like she came from Shi'kahr. She’d picked up the accent over the years. “Tra wi ha?”

No one answered.

Jim continued onward, hand on her holstered phaser.

Someone stepped out behind her.

Jim whirled and grabbed her phaser, ready to kill. Or at the very least, incapacitate. It didn’t seem right to kill a Vulcan after she had just worked so hard to save the whole planet.

 It was only her training that kept her phaser steady. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 “I am acting Captain of the Starship Enterprise.” Spock opened the door to the cargo bay, “As such, I am leading a rescue mission.

 Jim understood that he had not meant to send himself to this empty ship. Likely, the transporter had been overridden in the same way the escape pod had been. They could not assume they were alone on this ship.

  Jim exhaled. “By yourself?”

Spock arched one of his eyebrows. “My captain is with me.”

 Jim understood at once. A marital bond was handy like that, and had she been anywhere else, she would have pretended to be shocked that telepathy had its uses outside of the bedroom. “Do you think you’re funny?”

“Certainly not.” Spock retorted, “I’ve gotten aboard.”

 “I disabled the drill.” Jim insisted, accepting another Starfleet issue phaser and comm gratefully.

 Spock straightened, and began to head out of the cargo bay. “Must everything be a competition?”

 “No. But if it were, I’d be winning.” Jim asserted, grabbing his arm before he turned left when they should have turned right. This ship was designed differently than the standard Vulcan ship, but at least everything was neatly signposted.  

“This I will not dispute.”

           

*          *          *

They had a plan. Spock would stay here, on the Jellyfish. He would disable the repaired platform and demand Nero’s surrender.

Jim would take the red matter that had been stored on the Jellyfish and obtain the black hole device she had seen aboard the Narada. She was adamant that she take the red matter, and no amount of logic would sway her.

“Jim, the statistical likelihood that our plan will succeed is less than four point three percent.”

“It’ll work.”

“In the event I do not return, please…”

“Spock, it’ll work.”

As ever, the most important words between them remained unspoken.

*          *          *

 

Jim fell onto the transporter pad as she appeared on the bridge, the implosion of Nero’s ship behind them casting a ghostly pall over her skin.

“—You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you! You never loved her!”

Jim thudded onto the pad, air leaving her lungs in a horrible gurgle. She thought the sound would have made T’Aria giggle.

Her ears roared as she fought to find the words she needed. “Who’s Bones screaming at this time?”           

Sirens continued to blare as the two men dropped to their knees beside her.

Spock’s hands were warm against her side as the ship rocked. Pain seared through her body. “You are bleeding profusely.”

“I’m beautiful, asshole.” Jim reached out to grab his hand, but somewhere between lifting her hand from the pad and grabbing his hand away from her wound, her world went black.

*          *          *

Jim sat cross-legged on the biobed as the Enterprise prepared to dock. “Nero intended to launch explosives into the planet’s core. He blew up his own ship. And yet you stand there, and berate me for doing all I could to save the lives of six billion people on Vulcan alone.”

 “He tortured you.”

Pike was just furious because the admiralty was punishing him. He’d been promoted. All that was left now was the official ceremony. Saving two planets against direct orders couldn’t go unpunished, after all.

“He planned to torture me. He had a cozy little setup going, but I declined the invitation.” Jim sipped her tea, hoping that her lie would hold water. She would not put that sort of pain onto Chris.

“You disobeyed a direct order.”  

“You’re welcome.” Jim sipped her water, smothering a grin. “I’ll totally take the rip in my file.”

“Jemima.”

Len bustled into the room with a tray full of hypos and other supplies, “Humans aren’t meant to go jumping around in the black using stolen Romulan gear.”

Jim flopped back against the pillows, her regenerated shoulder twinging at the sudden motion. “Girls just wanna have fun, Bones.”

“Yeah, well, now you can have a ball in Sickbay.” Bones had a whole cart of stuff with him. She didn’t see a lollipop on that tray, though. He’d have to correct that, because if she had to subject herself to this bullshit, at least she should get something out of it. They had an understanding.

 “On that note, I’m going to deal with Komack.” Chris pushed to his feet, and patted her knee.

“Remember, you’re an admiral too, now.” Jim encouraged. “Don't do anything I would do, and tell him I send my love.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Jim stuck her tongue at him.

The door was fully shut before Bones spoke. “That was a helluva way to announce your pregnancy, Jim.”

“I didn’t say a word.” Jim tried not to wince at the mere sight of an uncapped hypo. “Nero did.”

Bones huffed. “Jesus Christ, Jim.”

Jim watched as Spock announced his presence with his usual grace. “Dr. McCoy, this hardly seems the place for religious ritual.”

Bones threw one hypo down on the tray, and grabbed another. “Oh, shut up.”

Jim decided she liked to live dangerously. Bones had a hypo to her neck and Spock was holding her dinner tray. This couldn’t go too badly. If all else failed, she could bribe Spock with casserole and turn the hypos on Len. “What’s this I hear about a fight on the bridge?”

Spock’s posture as he set down her tray was telling. “It was an event of no consequence.”

“I saw the feed.” Jim countered, realizing that her chances of getting them to talk were slim to none, “Listen, if you two have shit you need to unpack, that’s fine. You can hash it out in any way you want.”

“Jim, just let it alone.” Bones asked, stepping closer his cart of supplies.

 “I’ve got something to say.” Jim shook her head, and encompassed them both in a glance, “Like it or not, you two are family. Act like it, and stop airing your dirty laundry on my bridge.”

Len exhaled, “The things I said, Spock…”

“Were meant to goad, and had no basis in fact.” Spock clasped his hands behind his back, “I understood that from the outset. It is your way to lash out when you are in emotional pain. Words spoken in those moments are easily forgotten.”

“No. Jim’s right. We need to talk.” Bones glanced down at her, “But maybe now isn’t the time.”

“Agreed.” Spock affirmed.

Jim grinned. They could do this. They could run the Enterprise, and they could do it as a family. Some families went on vacation or had joint hobbies. They were going to run the flagship of Starfleet. It was going to be great.

*          *          *

The small terminal in San Francisco in which they found themselves was dead. The hustle and bustle had long passed by this small port. Jim suspected that the terminal they were now in had been shut down for their use. The crew of the Enterprise had countless death threats against them.

 Debriefed and sent on temporary leave, the bridge crew of Alpha shift cleared civilian security dressed in civvies. They were all headed to separate places.

Len was going to Georgia, to see Jo. She hoped Jocelyn would make herself scarce.

Hikaru was going home to visit his granny. Jim knew he was still seeing Ben, so she hoped they would find some time together. She had money down on an engagement.

Chekov was going to see his sister in London. His mother was going to meet him there. Mrs. Chekov, she had learned today, was a rocket scientist. Mr. Chekov was similarly employed. Pavel hadn’t fallen too far from the tree, as far as apples went.

Uhura was going with Christine Chapel for a girl’s trip to some far flung beach. She was already wearing a sundress and a big hat.

Jim was going to Vulcan. Spock, too, of course. T’Pau had sent transport.

“So, I guess this is where we, you know, do the thing.” Jim ventured, as they all came to a stop in the center of the desolate terminal.

Domestic transports went one way, international another, interplanetary yet another.

“Right.” Bones shifted awkwardly, “Well, don’t anybody call me, unless you’re dying.”

“Pavel, don’t forget to check in with somebody when you land?” Sulu hefted his bag across his shoulder easily, “I’m going to miss my connecting shuttle, guys.”

They all said goodbye, one by one.

Jim felt bereft as her crew departed. Bones was the last to go, the old softie. “You and Jo could always come to Vulcan.”

Bones scoffed, “I’ll see you next week. Tell my favorite hobgoblin hello, you hear?”

 Jim nodded, and hugged her best friend tightly.

Spock, for his part, did not correct Bones.

Finally, they were alone in the gleaming space. It was eerie to be so still and silent in a place that normally bustled with life.

“Jim, I believe our business here is concluded.” Gently, Spock laid and hand on her shoulder, “They are all safely headed to their destinations.”

"Sixty-four people under my command won’t ever get to go home again.” Jim reminded him, wondering what right she had to face so bright a future.

“If not for you, Jim, many more lives would have been lost.” Spock hefted their bags, “I hope in time you will find comfort in that truth.”

They turned and headed down the hallway that would lead them to their transport. Jim stopped short when she saw that they would not be traveling alone.

“Mama! Surprise!” T’Aria yelled, her small voice carrying down the long hallway, “Sa-mekh! Ak'wikmun!”

  Jim’s eyes filled with tears as Amanda let T’Aria rush forward into their arms.


	2. Eat Your Heart Out, Gracie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jimmy becomes the Federation's Gracie Heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two bookmarks = yes, we'd like to see more. 
> 
> I've been fighting with this formatting all afternoon.

The press conference wasn’t Jim’s idea of a good time. Her suffering was rather the point. The admirals had decided that they couldn’t bust her back to the Academy without interplanetary protest, so they would make her suffer by playing up her role as the Savior of the Federation. She was the youngest captain in the history of the Federation, the captain of the flagship of the fleet, and photogenic to boot.

“ _Terra Today,_ Captain. My question is this: why did you beam aboard Nero’s ship, knowing your chances of survival were slim?”

“It was my job.” Jim tried not to look thoroughly bored. She had answered this same question twice at this conference alone. They had been on this circuit for ages, since their leave had ended. “I had the capacity to prevent genocide and to maintain peace. As Dr. McCoy recently noted, we all enlist knowing our lives are on the line.”

“Thank you.” As the reporter sat down, a buzz arose as the moderator selected another reporter to ask their question.

“Julia Twrill from _Interplanetary Interaction._ ” The network reporter seemed even more chipper than she normally did on screen. She certainly seemed bluer, and taller. “My question is for Lt. Uhura.”

On and on this went. Jim wished they had some popcorn or something. She played a mental game guessing who would step up next. So far, she was 12/17.

“I’m R’eell Yurbna with _LadiesLoop_.” She glanced at her PADD. Jim adjusted her tally. 12/18.  “My question is for Commander Spock. Commander, as you may have noticed, you’ve become something of a symbol of Federation maleness in recent days.”

Jim tried to stifle laughter. Bones and Sulu laughed outright. Little did they know that several adult magazines had reached out to Spock, too.

Spock paid no mind to the men sitting to his left. “I have observed this entirely unnatural phenomenon, yes.”

“Commander, would you be willing to put rumor to rest with factual information?” At Spock’s nod, she continued, “Is there a special person in your life?”

“There are many special people in my life, Ms. Yurbna.” Spock informed her, gently, as though she was one of the Junior Cadets he’d looked after at Space Camp when he was in Academy. “Those with whom I serve on the Enterprise, and my co-researchers across Starfleet are very talented individuals.”

Everyone knew that wasn’t what R’eell had meant. She wasted no time in correcting Spock. Clearly, she hadn’t realized he’d been messing with her. “Sir, I meant interpersonally.”

“Oh, I see. You mean to ask me about my family.” Spock took a moment, and looked around the room, his gaze lingering on Starfleet emblems. The point he made was not lost on anyone. “I am Vulcan. Culturally, we tend to place high importance on family life. I am not so mysterious as some publications would have you believe. I have a pet Sehlat, a Terran housecat to whom my wife is terribly allergic but dotes upon, and a small aquarium that facilitates our daughter’s understanding of aquatic life.”

The moderator spoke quickly as a murmur spread throughout the room, “Next question.”

“My question is also for Commander Spock!” A man shot to his feet, his attenae wiggling with the force of his movements, “Would you care to expound upon your personal life?”

“Yeah, Spock.” Bones teased down the table, “The Federation wants to know more about the missus.”

Jim waggled her eyebrows, to the delight of the journalists. “Mr. Spock, you’re a Federation heartthrob!”

“If you are experiencing palpatations, Captain, I would encourage you to address Dr. McCoy in a more private setting.” Spock leaned forward to see past Jim, “Lt. Uhura, perhaps you would care to discuss your recent publications?”

Nyota grinned, “I wouldn’t dream of stealing the hot seat from you, Commander.”

“I thank you for your consideration.” Spock’s deadpan absolutely dripped with sarcasm.

The journalist back-peddled, “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, sir.”

“Discomfort in this case would be illogical.” Spock decided, “It is my understanding that we are here to discuss the defeat of the war criminal Nero.”

“You mentioned that she dotes upon your pet cat.” A voice called out from somewhere in the back, “Are we correct in assuming your wife is not Vulcan?”

Spock mentally weighed his response before speaking. “On the contrary, she holds Vulcan citizenship.”

Jim shot a glance at the reporters, and then looked to her crew and joked, “What is this, Where’s Wifey?”

Sulu caught the proverbial ball quickly, “Maybe we should get her a striped sweater.”

“Such a garment would be very uncomfortable on Vulcan, but quite useful here on Earth.” Spock asserted, “I understand the sentiment behind your words. It is, as you are no doubt aware, valued.”

“Spock, he’s not talking about literally getting a striped sweater. It’s a popular find and see game about a guy named Waldo, or Wally.” Jim leaned away from her microphone, but it caught her words easily. “He wears a stripy sweater.”

“The Captain has devoted herself to educating me regarding Terran popular culture as situations allow.” Spock folded his hands, “We have many similar games. Any interested party may speak to me later if you would value a list of references.”

“Captain Kirk, I would posit the same line of questioning to you.” The reporter tried again, “Have you a special person in your life?”

Jim grinned, “Don’t you know captains never leave the bridge? We’re like teachers.”

Everyone laughed.

Jim continued onward after a beat, “No, but seriously. Somebody saw me grocery shopping last week and was floored that I was price matching cereal and buying my own groceries.”

Jim looked to a consumer reporter who had somehow drawn the short straw and been sent here. Her grandmother was a massive fan, so Jim knew the guy by sight. “Wasn’t Space Crunch 2:1, Mike?”

“50% off when you bought two boxes 14 ounces or larger, Captain.” He corrected Jim, a smile stretching across his face that would have easily sent Grandma into raptures. “But I think we’d all like to hear the rest of this story. Something tells me there’s more.”

“Right, okay.” Jim began anew, “It just so happened that Mr. Spock was there buying kitty litter. His presence saved the day, because I think she decided something official was happening at the grocery store just off base.”

“She told me it was ‘pleasant to see command teams undertaking training in real life situations.’” Spock interjected. “Your mystery was maintained, Captain.”

 Jim hadn’t noticed them speaking, but then again she had been trying to keep T’Aria from, very logically, grabbing a cake out of the bakery case and sticking her face in it. “You’re joking.”

“Vulcans do not joke, Captain. Certainly we do not joke about training activities.”

“Or Space Crunch.”

“Or Space Crunch.” Spock affirmed.

 

*          *          *

            “I hate this.” Jim tugged at the neckline of her dress. It wasn’t low, but it was certainly eye-catchingly pink. She’d gone up at least a cup size, seemingly overnight. The pink dress picked by the stylist didn’t really fit into her style, but at least it had fit her body.

            “I will again lodge our objections to Admiral Barnett.” Spock went so far as to pull out his PADD before Jim stopped him.

            “We can’t back out.” Jim popped another candy into her mouth, wondering why the green room ‘set aside from them’ was packed with chocolate and one lone bowl of sugar-free gummies. “We go live soon. This, remember, is our punishment.”

            “Being forced to become the ‘Faces of the Fleet’ is cruel and illogical given that we have been instructed to conceal a great deal about ourselves, and would choose to reveal far less.” Spock put away his PADD, and glanced down at Jim’s feet, “I had not realized you still owned those shoes.”

            “They were in the back of the closet.” Jim wiggled her toes in the heels, “I should have worn my uniform. Fuck the PR machine. I’m a starship captain, not—” she waved her hand around, “an articulate talk show guest…”

            “You are a multifaceted being, Jim.” Spock reminded her, “All that matters is your self-actualization.”

            Jim considered his words, “You know what? You’re right.” She bit the head off of another gummy bee, “These shoes are amazing. So fuck Barnett.”

            Spock inclined his head, rather diplomatically. “Well, if I recall the name of your shoes correctly,” He looked up, and Jim saw as well as felt his grin, “you wore the right footwear for such an activity.”

            Jim burst out laughing.

            Jim spent the next five minutes trying to get chewed up candy out of her skirt. Ultimately, she’d been laughing too hard to do anything but hope the folds of her skirt didn’t shift too much.

            The peppy newscaster was far more stern that Jim had expected as they settled down on the couch across from her. She spoke around the two people applying her makeup, “You two were briefed, correct? I won’t remind you that we are going live in twenty seconds.”

            “We’ve faced far more stressful situations.” Jim tucked her feet back gracefully, thinking of all the times she had watched Amanda play hostess.

            “Well, I’ll remind you what you said if you screw it up.” She waved away her team as the countdown began, “Don’t screw it up.”

            With that, they were live across the galaxy and being interviewed. Gwen Green quickly revealed, “We’re here with the most famous command team in Starfleet’s history. Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock.” She turned her megawatt smile on them, “Though you’ve only been a team for a few months, everyone loved your banter at last week’s press conference. So, we thought it would be fun to play a matching game to see how much you know about one another. Sound fun?”

            Jim spoke for the both of them. Vulcans did not lie, so she had to do it for them. “Sure thing.”

            “Oh, don’t worry, Captain, we’ll start off easy.” She produced two PADDS from her side drawer, “If you would each take one. I’ll ask a question, you’ll answer it, and reveal your answers when asked to do so. The one with the most points wins.”

            Jim quickly authenticated her PADD, “What do I get when I win?”

            “I like that attitude!” Gwen Green declared, her face suggesting that her words were perhaps not wholly true, “Here we go! Name the following for one point: What is their favorite color?”

            They both got points for answering blue and green respectively.

            There were ten questions, each more absurd than the last. Favorite drink? Favorite food? Favorite holo-vid? On and on this went. Jim threw the game, just because she was bored, and she wanted to show the PR guy in the audience that they weren’t trained gorns.

            “Ooh!” Gwen threw out a wince, “You were so tied for so long! Commander Spock, you’ve won!”

            “It appears that I have.” Spock set aside his PADD, “I am afraid the game was rather simple. You see, I have been known to Captain Kirk for many years. I was seventeen when my parents attended a diplomatic function where Captain Kirk’s mother was giving a speech.”

            “So you two met then?” Gwen Green prompted.

            “No, we first crossed paths earlier that day in the Prep Library.” Spock corrected Gwen Green, “Miss Kirk, as she was then, pointed out several errors in my calculations and made use of a text I had requested several months prior, in anticipation of the trip.”

            “He neglects to mention that he never got a late fee.” 

            Spock arched an eyebrow, clearly remembering what she did not say. After all, she’d charmed Mrs. Wentzler to extend the deadline a couple of times.

            The crowd laughed.

            After that, they went to commercials.

*          *          *

            “We’re here with the always articulate Jemima Kirk, Captain of The Enterprise.” Jim could hear the capitalization in the late night host’s voice, “And her First Officer, Commander Spock.”

            Jim waggled her fingers in an approximation of a wave as the camera zoomed in on them. “Thank you for having us, Oregel.”

            “It’s always a joy to have two guests. It cuts down on how much I have to open my gills and still fill airtime.”

            “In that case, we are gratified to be of service to you.”

            “We have a surprise for you two!” Oregel clapped his hands, “We did a little digging, and we found some pictures we’d love you to explain!”

            The crowd cheered as the lights flashed and a melody played.

            Jim groaned.

            Spock’s ears turned green around the tips.

            “Let’s play Explain or Drain!” Oregel’s desk lifted to reveal a table with glasses, which were filled to the brim with horrifying concoctions.

            The crowd settled.

            “Let’s start with you, Mr. Spock.” The screen beside them filled with a picture of Spock, in his first year at the academy. His hair was spiked, and his bangs were sticking up on end. “Well, this is illogical.”

            “It was logical to engage with my peers during Welcome Week.” Spock recounted, “Initiation rituals are common, especially in the Terran educational system.”

            Oregel whispered comically, “What else did you do during Welcome Week?”

            “Ah, now that would be telling, and is not required to win this game.” Spock leaned back carefully, “I believe I have completed this round.”

            “I wouldn’t be so eager to pass the baton, Mr. Spock.” Oregel grabbed his clicker, “You may find yourself working gamma shift.”

            “Captain Kirk would not use her role as my superior to enact revenge.” Spock studied the picture that filled that screen. “I have never before seen that particular image.”

            “Bones, err Dr. McCoy, and I used to do this thing.” Jim revealed, “We’d pack up, and just, ask the computer for random coordinates and go where it suggested, see where life took us.”

            “Evidently life took you to a mosh pit.” Oregel zoomed in on the picture, “Well, you’ve got a good view of the stage up there on Dr. McCoy’s shoulders.”

            “He’s a real Southern gentleman.” Jim agreed, “His mama raised him right. My feet hurt.”

            “Who knew you could find a white knight in a place like that?” Oregel tapped his chin, “I’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places.”

            “Nah, Bonesy’s my buddy.” Jim put an end to that joke, “And now we work together, so…”

            “What?” Oregel teased, “You don’t want to be captain of the Love Boat?”

            “That is beyond the scope of my duties as a member of Starfleet.” Jim couldn’t help but grin, “Come on, Spock next.”

            “Maybe we just want to get a load of that tattoo, Captain. What language is that?” Oregel nevertheless moved forward as Jim reminded him she’d already explained the image.

            “Now, this,” Oregel broke down into laughter, “This, Mr. Spock, you’re never going to be able to explain.”

            “On the contrary, this image is quite simply understood.” Spock’s voice took on emotion Jim was certain only she could hear. “My cousin T’Var must have uploaded this image. In the weeks preceding one’s wedding, it is common to celebrate the occasion in an anticipatory fashion. The object of this shared activity was to seek out one’s intended, and pelt them with paint. Of course, the objective of their clan is to prevent it. It harkens back to Pre-Reformation rituals.”

            “But…” Oregel pulled out his protest comically, “How can that be understood logically in the present day?”

            “Simply.” Spock insisted, “Typically, Vulcans form the initial bond with their intended at a very young age. This ritual is common where marriages are chosen for more than mental compatibility or clan alliance. It is a way of asserting that one has chosen their partner. Why should this not be a bright and colorful moment? Would you have preferred I rescued her from her cold bed and covered her in war paint? That was, after all, the original context of this ritual.”

            “I think we were all expecting to hear you got drunk and got up to shenanigans with your cousins, Mr. Spock.” Jim interjected, which the crowd enjoyed.

            “I assure you, Captain, my cousins were in no way involved in any shenanigans that may have taken place. Nor was I inebriated.”

            Oregel seemed to enjoy how easily they held the crowd. He himself laughed before crying out, “Next!”

            Jim picked up the glass, and the crowd hissed and boo’d.

            Jim set down the glass, and held up her hands in a placating gesture, “Okay! Okay!”

            “So Nyota and I—”

            “Lt. Uhura, Captain.” Spock inserted, mostly to be a part of her joy, probably.

            “Aye, Mr. Spock.” Jim waved a hand, “So Nyota and I met in graduate school. And as anyone who’s been there knows, it’s stressful. What you see there is us burning our study guides after comps were over.”

            “That’s quite a fire.” Oregel ventured, “How much paper did you send up in flames?”

            “It was a couple of years of work for each of us. It was my third graduate degree, and I’d saved up. It felt great.” Jim shifted on the couch, “We had the digital originals, of course. This was just us blowing off steam with friends.”

            Oregel pushed his button. “So, here’s our last photo for Mr. Spock!”

            “Where did you find this image?”

            Jim admired Spock’s control. She wanted to pour one of the nasty cups over Oregel’s head. The show had agreed to keep their mitts off of family.

            “Ah, ah!” Oregel clicked, “I ask the questions here. What is this animal, a bear?”

            “He is a sehalat.” Spock’s voice was ice, “As he has not chosen a life in the public eye, I ask that you continue onward.”

            “I should make you drink a glass.” Oregel seemed to understand that he had violated their understanding.

            “You will not.” There was no doubt in Spock’s voice. They’d been told there would be colored water in the cups. There weren’t chunks in water.

            Oregel wisely moved onward. “Captain Kirk, can you explain this image?”

            Fury raced in Jim’s blood, and down through the bond.

            Quickly, Jim picked up a cup as the crowd boo’d.

            She very nearly gagged as the smell filled her senses.

            Spock’s concern was clear in every clipped consonant and vowel. “I must ask you what is in that glass.”

            Jim inhaled, and tried to play this disaster off as funny. “You’re off duty, Mr. Spock.”

            Oregel smirked, “We wouldn’t dare put anything too nasty into a glass.”

            “It’s really disgusting, don’t let him fool you.” Jim looked to the audience, who laughed sympathetically.

            “As it should be!” Oregel’s voice took on a pathetic note of command, “Drain the glass, Captain.”

            The crowd began to chant, “Drain! Drain! Drain!”

            Jim considered the slime on top of the liquid. It wiggled when she tried to take a sip. She didn’t want to go into anaphylactic shock during a live transmission. She also didn’t want to vomit up her dinner on Spock’s shoes.    

            “You’re looking a bit green around the gills, there, Captain Kirk.” Oregel noted, “Do you need a bucket?”

            Jim was suddenly very aware that she’d thrown up her breakfast every morning this week. Her mouth filled with saliva. Oh God, what if there was peanuts in this, or oranges?

            Without speaking, Spock fluidly took the glass from her grasp and downed it.

            The crowd went wild.

            Oregel’s purple skin paled. “There was beef broth in hers, Mr. Spock.”

            Jim was allergic to synthetic onions, a common additive in beef broth. She hadn’t eaten meat in ages, ever since the trouble with her allergies made being vegetarian easier.

            “Better I than she.” Spock declared, fury plain on his face, “Are you aware that this game violates several Federation laws?”

            Oregel clearly knew when he’d been saved by the chronometer. “And that’s all for a memorable game of Drain or Explain with Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock.”

            When they were off the air, Spock’s rage was palpable. “Are you aware that the Captain has several food allergies and several more intolerances? We were assured that there would be nothing but water in these glasses.”

            Jim focused on drawing breath into her lungs. She had been really close to landing herself in the hospital.

            “We always tell our participants that.” Oregel shrugged, “Anyway, you did great. People love to see guests chugging. Keep it up in the Q&A and we’ll do amazingly well together. You had cute pregnant feet, Jim. Mine swelled so badly, you’d never believe it. Great pedicure colors.”

*          *          *

            “The Enterprise is being refit for a longer mission.” Jim concluded, “So naturally, we’re looking forward to getting off the ground and back to doing what we do best.”

            “Mr. Spock,” this host was at least astute and respectful. She addressed Spock in accordance with basic Vulcan etiquette, making eye contact easily. “Won’t such a long mission require you to be parted from your clan?”

            “You allude to the fact that Vulcans place great importance upon familial bonds and clan roles.” Spock set down his mug, “The Enterprise welcomes families aboard, should that option be chosen.”

            Svetlana clasped her own mug gently. “I assume you have chosen to go that route.”

            Jim was glad she had worn jeans. It was freezing in this studio. “It was a decision made jointly with she who is my wife.”

            “Captain Kirk, won’t you tell us a little more about Starfleet’s Family Policies?” Svetlana easily came to the reason they’d been trotted out like dancing gorns once more.

            “Well, do you have a week?” Jim waited a beat while the host chuckled, “I think I’d better just tell you about the Enterprise. We have a Child Development Center, which houses care facilities up until the age school matriculation, and agreements with schools on various planets to link kids up to culturally relevant programs. In the future, we’re hoping to have enough children aboard to have a school of our own.”

            “Won’t kids running around get in the way of your mission?” Svetlana clarified quickly, “I mean, isn’t it dangerous?”

            “I’ve never met a group of people that didn’t want to bond with others over the universal experiences of parenting.” Jim relaxed when the audience clapped a bit, “But I take your point regarding perceived danger. Starfleet is doing all it can to minimize such risks. In recent years, ships have been built to break apart in space, allowing all non-essential areas to function as an evacuation shuttle.”

            “The research that supported these designs was fascinating.” Spock added, “It has done much to preserve families and prevent mass casualties in the line of duty.”

            “We happen to have a little model Enterprise here, Captain.” Svetlana gestured, her past as a model shining through in her elegance, “Won’t you please show us how it works?”

            “Sure. In the words of my navigator, ‘I can do that.’” Jim did not imitate Chekov’s accent. Instead, she allowed a little bit of Iowa to shine through, and someone in the crowd clapped.

            Jim sought them out and made eye contact as she walked to the table that held the model, uncomfortable with the camera tracking her every step. Thankfully, Svetlana came along, making conversation with Spock to fill the dead air.

            Jim picked up the housing wing, and showed the inside of the model to the camera. “Here you see the Life Support systems for the Family Housing Unit. Sickbay breaks off in the same arm.”

            “The design of the ship seems very logical.” Svetlana pointed out another portion of the Enterprise, “And this is the bridge, correct?”

            Jim picked up that part of the model. “Yes. This is my chair.”

            “It has a little captain’s chair?” Svetlana poked at the small chair as the cameras zoomed in on it, “It’s adorable.”

            “Adorable is not a word I would use to describe the representation of a chair that is, in effect, the command center for the most technologically advanced exploratory vessel in the Federation.” Spock’s correction was soft, but firm.

            “We’re one ship in the Fleet.” Jim was quick to cover her bases, “But we are the best.”

            “Oooh, why is that Captain Kirk?” Svetlana glanced down under her eyelashes at her audience, “She came here to spill the tea!”

            “There’s no tea.” Jim shook her head as the audience clapped and cheered, “I just have the best crew in Starfleet. It’s the crew that makes the ship, not bells and whistles.”

            “Awww!” Svetlana coo’d, “Well, when we come back, we’re going to hear more about life on The Enterprise with First Officer Spock and Captain Jemima Kirk.”

            Once they were once again settled on the sofas, Svetlana leaned forward, “I know the Enterprise hasn’t gone on a long mission yet, but based on prior experiences, can you tell all of us a bit about what daily life is like on a Federation Vessel?”

            Jim was more than happy to pass that question along. She was sick of hearing herself speak, and she was sure Spock would have a quick summary that would avoid mention of the million dumpster fires that seemed to seemed to define life in space. “Mr. Spock?”

            “Certainly.” He began, “One’s daily routine is largely dependent upon one’s duties. For example, as First Officer and Lead Scientist, my daily routine is built around my work in the labs and being present on bridge as required by the duty roster.”

            “Yes,” Svetlana pressed, “but what about things like meals, and sleeping, and recreation?”

            “You seek a representative illustration. Very well.” Spock thought for a moment, “I rise at approximately 6:30 am according to ship time. My household is populated by night owls, I believe is the term.”

            “I then meditate if circumstances allow. Otherwise, I fulfill familial roles as required until such a time that we attend breakfast, usually in the main mess around 7:45. It is there that Captain Kirk has consumed enough of a morning beverage to allow conversation beyond what is absolutely required.”

            Jim needed something to get through the horror that was trying to get T’Aria to sit still long enough to comb her curly hair. Spock was better at it, but T’Aria was in a phase of insisting Jim do it.

             “Typically, I join the bridge crew for Alpha shift. The details of my work are classified, but is punctuated by yet another meal, once I have spent some time in the labs.”

            “Oh, pssht!” Svetlana waved a hand, “What’s a little classified information between you and a few million friends?”

            Spock did not reply, but instead continued with his narrative. “This meal I take in my quarters with my family, if possible, which allows for the strengthening of said bonds. Dr. McCoy and other members of the crew frequently find their way to our table. Following dinner, I prioritize interaction with my family until 8:30, when our daughter is encouraged to go to sleep.”

            “Tell me, are small Vulcans logical, or do they jump on their beds and get up five times for a glass of water?” Svetlana inquired, playing to her demographics.

            “Both. They are very adept at finding logical reasons to delay the unavoidable.” Mr. Spock’s eyes lit with a smile, “She has inherited her mother’s ingenuity in that sense.”

            Jim worked very hard to pretend the warmth in his voice wasn’t for her. She was a little bit jealous of his fake Vulcan wife with good hair and AA width feet.

            After Svetlana made appropriate noises, Spock got back on track.

             “At approximately 9:15, Captain Kirk and I attend to ship’s business and administrative tasks. If time allows, I will then go to the gym. Recently, the Captain and I have been playing chess several nights a week.”

            “Don’t let him fool you, Svetlana, he’s a total night owl, too.” Jim was trying not show how amused she was by Spock’s cozily domestic expression of their daily lives. She was deeply touched to hear him speak so openly about what he valued in such a public arena, despite all the strictures placed upon them.

            “I do find my efficiency increases exponentially when I am not expected to attend to the myriad of interruptions that are more common during the day.”

            “Ouch, Spock.” Jim rubbed her forearm gently.

            “Do you need some ice for that burn, Captain?” Svetlana teased.

            “In no way have I injured you, Captain.” Spock returned, “If I may continue without further interruption?”

            Jim inclined her head comically as Svetlana and her audience laughed.

            Spock affirmed his gratitude and added, “Following this, I invariably meditate and retire for the evening. I am frequently awoken by various animals and a specific small child attempting to make use of our bed as opposed to the beds provided for their rest. I then, instead of facing the wrath of my wife, will make a strategic retreat to the sofa. I am often joined by the cat.”

             “It doesn’t seem very different from life on Earth.” Svetlana mused.

            “In many ways, it is not.” Spock affirmed, “Irrespective of my location, I am still a husband and father. I am an officer regardless of where I am assigned. What is different is classified, however. Do not make the assumption that the life of a Starfleet officer is mundane or placid. It is, however, something I would never trade for anything else in the Universe.”

*          *          *

**TheEmpress: Guys, I’m just putting it out there. Have you ever seen Jim Kirk and Spock’s wife in the same place? No. You have not.**

**FleetBrat6710: Oh, here we go again. You ship them, just admit it, @TheEmpress. It’s okay. They’re cute. Even I can admit they’d make beautiful babies.**

**LingoLvr: So, @FleetBrat6710 are you finally ready to admit you think Commander Spock is cute?**

**FleetBrat6710: I ONLY said the combination of their genetic material would likely lend itself to the development of amazing people. It was a SCIENTIFIC observation. Furthermore: Hkcy'x c jlwo olng asz fslqj lq c toceg olng yklx? Lx yklx hka hg'wg iwlgqfx, ZKZWC?  
**

**LingoLvr: @FleetBrat6710: Not a language, but okay. Also, if you’re going to use a cipher, don’t be so bloody obvious. The NET is FOREVER, no matter how fast these threads move. I can still find my great-great-grandmother’s Instagram. Also: Hg'wg iwlgqfx dgeczxg hg kcqj szy kgwg, Jsf nqshx hka.  
**

**YankeeBelle: @Empie, here are the vid grabs you wanted.**

**TheEmpress: @FleetBrat4632, I think they’re trying to hide their bond. Let’s go through the grabs @YankeeBelle provided.**

**FleetBrat6710: This is some hardcore journalism. Anybody got any popcorn?**

**TheEmpress: Okay, let’s look at their press conference. He doesn’t look at her, not once, when he’s talking about his wife. He, however, does say that she ‘holds Vulcan citizenship.’ Not that she **IS** Vulcan. Then CJK deflects. HS jumps in there, and CS says he is aware that his wife values him. THEN. HS and CJK share a glance. Telling? You decide. Then! CJK has a sidebar with CS where she gently but not patronizingly explains Where’s Waldo. GUYS. JUST. I think **SHE** didn’t say anything about her life because it’s easier for her to deflect. She’s probably been doing it for years and she’s got that kind of personality. She’s not the kind of woman to want her personal sh!t out there. I imagine it would be a barrier she developed over the years. It’s **STILL** much more acceptable for a man to have career and a family. Yes. In the 23 rdCENTURY. **

**FleetBrat6710: You have a point about sexism. Starfleet isn’t as friendly as it pretends to be for women and children.**

**LingoLvr: Really?? That’s shocking! I thought there were all kinds of policies!**

**ChapelofLove: Hi all! I’m new here! I just wanted to say, I think you are all really sweet people. I met Captain Kirk once, and I think she’d be so touched you all care so much.**

**LingoLvr: Nobody wants any of them here, trust me. The forum has rules. They’re only allowed in the AMA forum. They haven’t shown up yet. Maybe you should reach out, @ChapelofLove, but don’t spoil our fun.**

**ChapelofLove: Spoil your fun, @LingoLvr? NEVER!**

**TheEmpress: Then, look at their body language in their _Good Morning Terra_ segment. Just. Look where I circled. She angled her body towards him, and he’d totally sit closer if he wasn’t paying attention to personal space. The way he looked at her when he told that story about their meeting, the way she teased him, the way they looked like they’d told that story a thousand times…You see it, don’t you? I’m not even going to touch on that game they played. **

**TheEmpress: Sorry for double posting, but dudes. Dudes. We’re on a roll. Their attempt at Drain or Explain was a neon ducking sign. “She would not her positon as my superior to enact revenge.” That’s because she doesn’t have to! The whole segment. Just. Look at the subtitles here, I’ve made annotated notes.**

**YankeeBelle: That picture of Len McCoy is gold. I’m putting it on my Christmas cards. My mom will go nuts. Merry Christmas. TO ME.**

**FleetBrat** **6710: Run that one by your Dad, first, @YankeeBelle. Also: what time is it where you are? After midnight on a Tuesday? Also, Welcome to the Forum, @ChapelofLove.**

**YankeeBelle: What my parents don’t know won’t hurt them, @FleetBrat** **6710.**

**MadKingGeorge: @FleetBrat** **6710, Like you’re one to talk.**

**FleetBrat** **6710: Shut up, Georgie Porgie.**

**MadKingGeorge: Sure thing, T’sai.**

**FleetBrat** **6710: I’m going to tell She Who Must Not Be Named.**

**MadKingGeorge: OOOH, KEYBOARD WARRIOR!**

**RENVAROBO: I was in the audience, and CS went nuts on Oregel when we went to commercial. I saw it. He was so furious he shook. He started going on about allergies and breach of contract, and, well, I hate to say it, but CJK touched his hand, and he reciprocated. There was lots of eye contact while Oregel was getting his face fixed. She had a drink in her bag under the table, and when she reached down to get it, he got it, and when she said something, he said: “Nam'uh hizhuk.  La masu.”**

**Tevgineer: @RENVAROBO, you’re clearly a sock account. Stick to one account, @TheEmpress.**

**RENVAROBO: I’m not a troll. I’m not a sock. I’m Risian, and I speak a bit of Vulcan. Are you Tellerite, @Tevgineer?**

**MODE4B: A reminder that this thread will be locked if discussion devolves into racial and planetary insults.**

**TheEmpress: ***How did she touch his hand?*****

**RENVAROBO: I’d rather not say. I’m not a gossip. I just wanted to back you up. They’re together. 100%.**

**MadKingGeorge: Are you saying they did what I think they did on a soundstage?**

**RENVAROBO: It wasn’t full on, but yeah. Saw it with mine own eyes. I also think they’ll have to make some sort of announcement in a few months, anyway. This is a waiting game, and I say let them have their privacy.**

**MadKingGeorge: @PoohBear: You see this?**

**PoohBear: @MadKingGeorge: Aren’t there regulations against that in Starfleet? I don’t think they’re right. Not about that. Maybe the other thing.**

**RENVAROBO: Starfleet can’t tell people they can’t reproduce. And look at Winona and George Kirk. Didn’t they get the fraternization regulations changed before he died?**

**PoohBear: You know, I’d forgotten about that. Haha.**

**Up/Down/LR: Speculation. This whole thing is bullshit, anyway. Who cares who some pretty blonde is fucking? And why the ‘haha’ about George Kirk? He didn’t ride anybody’s coattails to get where he did.**

**PoohBear: That’s what you think. George was gloriously human. Don’t forget that. He probably had annoying habits and faults. None like yours, though.**

**FleetBrat** **6710: I might not agree about all this Spirk business, @UP/Down/LR, but I don’t bash people. I leave the dead to rest in peace, and I don’t flap my gums spewing nonsense. Don’t leave your poor Mama’s basement until you can be civil. Are you jealous that no woman would look twice at you? She sure wouldn’t.**

**Up/Down/LR: Shut up, bitch.**

**MadKingGeorge: How about you shut up?**

**MODE4B: Up/Down/LR has been suspended for 60 Terran Days. For calculation into your local units of measurements, click here.**

**TheEmpress: I’m logging off now. I’ll tackle the other appearances tomorrow.**

**Sasfekau: All speculation regarding the personal dynamics between Captain Jemima Kirk and Commander Spock is mystifying. Why is one relationship of interest to so many?**

**MadKingGeorge: Because the speculation is hilarious. They must know about Spirk.  Imagine how uncomfortable it makes them.**

**Sasfekau: @MadKingGeorge, such assertions are immature. I have long stopped wondering why discomfort is amusing to you. Furthermore, your stated knowledge of romantic and erotic fiction featuring them requires explication.**

**MadKingGeorge: I’d have to be dead not to know about it. Doesn’t mean I read it. I’d sooner jump out of an airlock. Do you read it, @Sasfekau?**

**Sasfekau: The public exploration of so private a dynamic hardly lends itself to recreational reading. I am told such literature encourages inaccuracy on many levels.**

**FleetBrat** **6710: @Sasfekau, you should be okay in this sub-forum. The shippers don’t come here, much. @MadKingGeorge, if you want to read something decent, check out MySilverLady’s fics. They keep things PG (THANK G-D), and they’ve got a lock on a really great interpretation. They write about the entire crew. There are lots of technical sidebars, though.**

**YankeeBelle: I printed this exchange and added it to my scrapbook.**

**MySilverLady: Aw, @FleetBrat** **6710that compliment warms the cold cockles of my old heart. xx**

**TheEmperess: Why should it be embarrassing? And why are we dancing around the idea of two people having sex? I don’t think, in this day and age, they should have to hide anything. Why is it not okay to simply say “we’re not willing to talk about our personal lives on television?” I think if they did say something, they’d be doing a lot for women and couples in Starfleet.**

**FleetBrat4762: I’m sorry for all the teasing, @TheEmpress. That’s pretty deep.**

**TheEmpress: Don’t apologize. You’ve always been kind.**

**LingoLvr: For what it’s worth, I think they’re an adorable couple.  Speculatively.**

**OleMissMed0123: What IS this forum, for God’s sake? What the hell did I just spend two hours reading?**

**YankeeBelle: YOU SWORE IF I TOLD YOU ABOUT IT, YOU WOULDN’T MAKE AN ACCOUNT.**

**OleMissMed0123: WHY ARE YOU CALLING YOURSELF A YANKEE AND SCREAMING AT ME?**

**MySilverLady: It’s a handle, meant to obscure one’s identity, like when you have to introduce an orphan lamb to a new mama. We come from all over. @YankeeBelle probably isn’t your daughter. She does like to have a laugh now and again.**

**OleMissMed0123: Alright, listen up. We’re all here. Jimmy’s here. Spock’s here. Sam’s here. Uhura and Chapel and Scotty, and my kid daughter, and Winona. We’re all here.**

**TheEmperess: What are you talking about? Who’s Captain Kirk, then? Up/Down? I’m not one to call out trolls, but…**

**OleMissMed0123: Jimmy’s Fleet Brat. Or whoever she calls herself.**

**YankeeBelle: Yeah, sure. She’s Captain Kirk.**

**FleetBrat** **6710: Actually, wait. I so totally am. Everyone, I’m Jemima Fucking Kirk. Hello. My sex life has been immortalized. I think it is amazing that my great-grandchildren will one day find this forum and be emotionally scarred.**

**Sasfekau: Why would you wish them emotional harm? Would their mental wellness not be enhanced knowing their ancestors were beings with full lives?**

**YankeeBelle: Nobody wants to think about their parents as sexual beings.**

**Sasfekau: I understand. I was conceived with the help of many doctors and scientists in a lab. Prior to my own maturation, I was secure in the knowledge that my conception was a planned, logical, well-considered undertaking, free of emotional passion and personal melodrama. That thinking was lacking, but at your developmental stage, such reasoning is logical. You will grow beyond it in time. Please do not feel any need to rush this process based on the observations of popular culture or the undertakings of your peers.**

**YankeeBelle: Lesek, Sa-kuk. Or so @OleMissMed0123 would have you all believe…haha**

**ChapelofLove: Does this thread count as a Spirk Sighting? Should I link it over there? @FleetBrat** **6710, don’t encourage his delusions.**

**MySilverLady: Aye, he’s a troll if I ever saw one.**

**MadKingGeorge: Troll. Who am I supposed to be? Wait, don’t tell me. HAHA.**

**PoohBear: Don’t feed the trolls, guys.**

**FleetBrat** **6710: Seriously, though. If I were her, do you think I would spend my limited free time here?**

**LingoLvr: If you were her, you’d know she’s deeply in love with Dr. McCoy. I bet that’s what we’re missing. Spock/Kirk/McCoy?**

**OleMissMed0123: MY KID IS ON THIS THREAD, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.**

**YankeeBelle: I could see it. I really could.**

**MadKingGeorge: Watch the tabloids pick this up and spin it as gospel.**

**MySilverLady: **writes down story idea****

**PoohBear: You know, they did all live together for years…**

**Sasfekau: Vulcans are rarely polyamorous. I would consider it highly unlikely.**

**FleetBrat** **6710: Mr. Spock is half-Vulcan, @Sasfekau.**

**Sasfekau: Indeed, @FleetBrat6710. May I again acknowledge your mental acuity and attention to detail?**

**FleetBrat** **6710: You may, of course. The truth should always be acknowledged.**

**OleMissMed0123: GET A ROOM!**

**OleMissMed0123: AND LEAVE ME OUT OF IT.**

**TheEmpress: SOoooO…Does anyone want to talk about their appearance on _Svetlana_? I’m typing up a big post now. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This was just so much fun, I couldn't help it. It should be pretty easy to figure out who's who in that thread. 
> 
>  
> 
> Hkcy'x c jlwo olng asz fslqj lq c toceg olng yklx? Lx yklx hka hg'wg iwlgqfx, ZKZWC? = What's a girl like you doing in a place like this? Is this why we're friends, UHURA?
> 
>  
> 
> Hg'wg iwlgqfx dgeczxg hg kcqj szy kgwg, Jsf nqshx hka.  
> We're friends because we hang out here, God knows why.


	3. My Date with the Commandant's Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of interest in this AU, given that it started off as a lark because I had a weird dream, is amazing. Thank you so much.

 

            Jim popped in her earbuds, and made her way to her usual table in the PL. It was summer, but being a Fleet Brat meant two things. One, it meant that she lived in the Commandant’s house and had to put up with Chris forcing her to do things like come to dinner, and go to parties held in her own damn living room. Normal teenagers had a VidScreen in their living rooms.

            Reality was a distant concept in the Pike household. If Jim wanted to watch something on a comfy sofa, she had to hike uphill both ways to the girl’s dorm across campus and fight over what they watched. It was unfair. She lived at home, and she still had to follow Prep rules. She’d lobbied to go to school with all her friends, but it had been decided that “someone with her aptitudes and intelligences” needed an education that couldn’t be provided by the best school for young women in the state of California.

            Lies, all lies, especially since she spent most of her time at the University. Pike and Winona felt her social development would be “enhanced by formalized interaction with social peers.” She still felt their reasoning was flawed. She knew she was being punished for blowing up the upper school lab before those learned ladies had given her the kindest, nicest, boot on the ass out the door. She’d sent the Head of the Upper School a copy of her doctoral thesis a few months ago, just to prove a point.

            There were, however, pluses to being the Commandant’s daughter, which led her to number two. She could use the Prep Library whenever she wanted. She had the override codes to get in during off hours. The library was the best on days like today. It was a cool oasis of knowledge in the summer’s heat, free from other students, even if it was open.

            Jim settled down to work. She had a paper about communication across the multiverses that she wanted to finish up and send to the journal by the end of the week. She also had her classwork too, but whatever, the research came first. She was a damn good TA, and lecturing extemporaneously only proved that, despite what her department head said about submitting lecture outlines and sharing slides.

            After about an hour, Jim wandered to the staff coffeepot and fished out some cookies from the overhead cupboard. “Thanks for baking, Mrs. Wentzler.”

            “You deserve treats, with all of your allergies.” Mrs. Wentzler replied, “It’s no trouble. You let me know how you like those faux-peanut butter cookies and I’ll pass the recipe onto Mrs. Frankel.”

            Jim chewed, knowing their housekeeper wouldn’t bake Jim cookies. She was forever blathering on about rounded meals and bedtimes, and adequate rest, and self-care. “She made bean brownies last week.”

            “Joy of joys.” Mrs. Wentzler winked, as Jim went over to the rolling cart and checked the reserves that had come in from the ILL.

            “I’m borrowing this.” Jim decided, lifting a heavy tome from the rack. “I’ll bring it back in a bit.”

            Mrs. Wentzler had already turned back to her portal. “What’s the request date on it, Jimmy?”

            “Dunno.” Jim shrugged, grabbing another five cookies for the road, “I’ll bring it back. Nobody but me’ll be in here today, anyway.”

            Jim headed back to her table, her nose stuck into the book. She made it through five pages before she got to her table. Jim realized that this book would be helpful for her research.

            Jim turned up the music in ears, and allowed herself to fall into a world that made sense.

*          *          *

           

“Excuse me.” The voice spoke again. She had fifteen pages left in this book, and she wasn’t going to let them ruin it.

Jim turned up Freddie, and kept reading.

“You cannot ignore me as you have tried to do for the last seven minutes. I desire direct communication with you.” The voice said, his Standard slightly accented. Vulcan, Jim decided, noting the way his confusion was evident in the clipped monotone. 

Jim looked up, and then quickly back down. She could ignore him if she wanted to ignore him, even with that big ‘ol door opening up in that _katra_ of his. So what if he had turned out to be tall, with good teeth, and nice hands? That didn’t mean he was impossible to tune out and ignore.

Jim tapped her toes as she came to the end of another page, and turned it. What had she done without him to annoy? She now had a new favorite hobby.

“You are deliberately trying to irritate me.” The voice declared, “It cannot be done. I requested that text, and I will have it, in accordance with the policies of this institution.”

Jim slid her finger along her PADD. Sam Cooke made her point easily as he crooned that he was going to stay there as long as it took. Jim kept reading as she reached into her bag for a cookie.

“Food is not permitted in the Prep Library.” Her Vulcan Jiminy Cricket set down his PADD and Jim noticed several errors in his work, “You are in violation of no less than three mandates regarding music, food, and the use of materials.”

Jim chewed, and kept her eyes on her book.

“I will return with the staff member on duty.”

Jim waited until he was halfway across the room, and called out in Vulcan. “Hey! Did you say something?”

Jim watched as he paused, stiffened, and faltered before continuing onward.

Jim laughed so hard she nearly fell off of her chair.

Once her new best friend was out of sight, Jim packed up and left a note on the table before heading out the side door. This totally counted as an emergency. His shields weren’t functioning at optimum levels, and she wasn’t about to let this go down in a public place.   

By the time Jim clomped across her front yard, she was so lathered up she was talking to herself. “And also! Also, who the hell does he think he is? Stubborn. Egotistical.”  Jim slammed the front door behind herself, “‘You will not ignore me. I demand my book. I have traveled from Vulcan to retrieve this text.’”

“Jemima.” Pike called out from his study, “Come in here, please. Quietly.”

“Okay, but first let me tell you what happened to me.” Jim began to tramp through the house to grab a drink before going to Pike. It was hot outside, and annoyance required hydration.  “You know, this is not what I expected when he finally got off his ass and showed up. Why? I’ll tell you why! He’s literally the most annoying, stuck-up, butter wouldn’t dare melt in my mouth, you’ll do what I say because I’m so pretty Vulcan. Can you believe it? This kid, he stood there and talked at me for ten minutes about a book I’m reading. And I was like, ‘Dude, beat it.’” Jim rounded the doorway and dropped her bag, “Like use your logical stick and measure how much I could not possibly care about your book right now.”

“Sir, I present to you my only daughter, Jemima.” Pike glared at her as he spoke, “Jemima, we’re hosting the Vulcan ambassador and his family today.”

“I must’ve forgotten.” Jim grinned. “T'nar pak sorat y'rani, Dr. Greyson, Ambassador.”

They effortlessly replied.

Formal greetings over, the Ambassador’s wife smiled, “I think you and I are going to be wonderful friends, Jemima. Call me Amanda.”

“What is a ‘logical stick’?” The Ambassador inquired, and Jim had the strangest feeling that he was messing with her. “It sounds useful, though perhaps not in the context you have suggested.”

“It was a figurative expression, _Osu_.” Jim declared, faking a confidence she did not feel. Really, she wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole.

“I offer you my name, Miss Kirk.” The ambassador intoned formally, a smile lighting his eyes after she reciprocated.

Mrs. Frankel opened the door after the bell rang. She bet he’d stalked her here like a _krin-tu_ for his precious book. Yeah, because books totally outranked finding one’s _t’hy’la_. Most people got a bit of a dumbfounded expression and an expedient hello. What’d she get? _I will have my book._ So not fair. She decided she didn’t like him. At least until annoying him grew less enjoyable.

Jim glanced at the door, but decided that staying was better. She could tell from the look on Pike’s face that if she ran, he’d drain her trust fund and donate it to the VSA. Still, she wandered over to the bookcase in the corner.

“Sir, I was unable to find your daughter.” Spock announced, after properly greeting those he noticed. He hadn’t noticed her. Jim was mature enough to admit that rankled her. “I offer you my apologies.”

Dr. Greyson’s expression was as placid as her tone. “Are you quite sure, Spock, that you saw no one in the Prep Library?”

“There was a young woman, as a matter of fact, who ignored my repeated questions regarding her use of a text I had requested via Interplanetary Library Loan.” Spock clasped his hands behind his back formally, “I must inform you that this student was in direct violation of no less than seven regulations that govern communal life in the Prep Academy.”

How had three violations grown to seven?

“I see.” Pike nodded.

“You could not possibly.” Spock insisted, from where he came to stand beside his mother’s chair, “Her violations were heinous. There were crumbs, Sir. She left a note that outlined several errors in calculations I had been working on this afternoon, but failed to offer her name. Surely, you will have had disciplinary hearings with this student in the past.”

“I wasn’t ripping books out of other people’s hands, Spock.” Jim countered, wondering how on earth he had missed seeing her bag on the chair by the door. “Nobody’s ever called me heinous, though. I thank you.”

“You!” Spock hissed, and it was so hilarious that Jim felt a certain satisfaction. Clearly, this was not the sort of behavior his parents expected. The look on his mother’s face was classic.

“Me.” Jim raised her hand in a ta'al. “ _Na'shaya_.”

It wasn’t the stuff of dreams, but hey, it was working for them.

“ _Nash_ —” Spock cleared his throat. “ _Na'shaya_.”

Jim caught his Freudian slip. Well, that was something, right?

“Spock, I see you’ve met my Jemima.” Pike’s words were resigned, though tinged with a humor Jim would have lived without hearing.

Jim decided she had shit to do that did not include staring at Spock of Vulcan, wondering if it was ethical to slip past his mental shields and take up the space in his mind that yearned for her. He did not seem to realize that she was staring him in the face. She decided they should probably have coffee first. Or something.

“Commandant Pike, I apologize for my words. They were accurate, but perhaps inappropriate given that I have insulted—” Spock turned when she hefted her bag, “Where are you going? Our discourse is not concluded. You must remain until I have corrected my interpersonal offenses.”

“Oh, don’t be boring.” Jim waved a hand. “He loves it when people complain about me. It’s how we bond. Which is, like important, right?”

“Your use of vocal filler does nothing to convey any level of importance.” Spock informed her, looking down imperiously at her, “Nor am I certain as to which questions you would have me answer.”

“Jim made her farewells to Dr. Greyson and the ambassador.

Spock hurried out of the study behind her, “I meant to offer my apologies, and provide you a context to do the same, Miss Pike.”

Jim rolled her eyes, “You’re not getting an apology out of me, buddy.”

“I decline the invitation to be your ‘buddy.’” Spock sniffed, “My understanding of the term suggests that it is wholly unsuited to the nature of our dynamic.”

“Well, isn’t that lovely?” Jim stuck her nose in the air. She didn’t have time to deal with spoiled pedants. Give an alien an opening to woo, and what’s he do? Throw it in her face. Jim gripped the stairwell, very glad for the wooden bannister between them.

Spock came to his point, the intensity of his gaze at odds with the banality of his question.  “May I have my book?”

“Spock, welcome to Terra.” Jim wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream at him or kiss him. It was very possibly a mixture of both. “Here, possession is nine-tenths of the law. I’m using the book.”

“You could not possibly be using it for any other purpose than to annoy me.” Spock’s certitude dripped from his words. Whoever said that Vulcans were emotionless were wrong. The _whatever_ that was between them crackled. She could feel it, and it was heady.  

“Woah, ego much?” Jim decided she’d perhaps been a bit hasty with the consideration of kissing. It had been a passing thought. Just because they were made of the same atoms, just because they had been philosophically split apart at the Big Bang and had spent years searching for one another didn’t mean that their relationship was automatically defined as one of romantic interest.

Perhaps she had been wrong in waiting for him. Oh, well. She could get other dates. She wondered if she could ring up somebody at the soulmate assignment office and complain. She could imagine herself sitting by a 20thcentury phone, and someone calling down the line, “ _I’m sorry, Jimmy, but God simply cannot come to the phone right now. He’s busy dealing with his particles.”_

“I mean you no offense.” Spock clarified, and for some reason Jim believed him. “It is a graduate-level text, and you are an eleventh-grade student.”

“Actually, no.” Jim revealed. She hadn’t been in the eleventh grade since she was actually eleven. “But congrats on the logical guess.”

Spock’s rejoinder was impassioned. “I do not wish to be congratulated for being wrong.”

 “Well, it’s what we do.” Jim decided that messing with him was more fun than any thought of a temporary romance. “We reward trying.”

He considered her words. “I am trying to obtain my book.”

“Sometimes one tries in vain.” Jim declared, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

Spock spluttered.

Jim couldn’t help it. She laughed, and began to haul herself up the stairs, pausing on the third stair to turn around and laugh some more.

“Why do you keep laughing and walking away?” Spock demanded, his exasperation finally, finally, gloriously, plain. “This is not a typical Terran behavior!”

Jim spoke between the last of her laughter. “It’s your face…”

“My face is symmetrical and objectively ideal according to both Vulcan and Terran precepts.”

“You can’t just say that!” Jim scolded. Even if it was true, he’d his face bashed in around by the other cadets for that kind of attitude.

Spock took a step upward, and his boot on the stair promptly set off the alert. As the chimes rang out, he jumped back, horrified. _“Ora?”_

“Pike!” Jim called out as she reset the alarm, “Your stupid boy detector works!”

“I am not stupid!” Spock cried, eyeing the stairs warily.

“No, but that gadget is.” Jim returned, “We’ve only left it on because it’s funny as hell. The last Commandant actually used it. Can you believe it?”

“I can.” Spock allowed, “On Vulcan, a _pe'le'ut'la_ is an honored position within a clan. The act of actual chaperonage, as opposed to the ceremonial role at a bonding, is frequently understood as sexist in modern times, but is routinely retained by more traditional clans.”

Mrs. Frankel bustled out from where she had been working, “You head back into the study with your parents. I’m bringing tea in, young man.”

“I have not yet retrieved my book from Miss Pike.”

“Run along.” Mrs. Frankel insisted, paying Spock no attention. “The both of you.”

When Jim came to the top of the stairs, she leaned over the railing and looked down upon Spock as he headed back down the hallway, “Actually, it’s Kirk. Jemima Kirk.”

*          *          *

            Spock knocked on the door outside his mother’s office, and stuck his head around the doorjamb, “Mother, are you presently occupied?”

            “No, not at all.” Mother tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “I’ve been thinking you might stop by.”

            Spock joined her on the sofa, amid her PADDs and notes. “It was a logical assumption, given that I have habitually sought you out in the afternoons for several years.”

            “I meant especially.” Mother clarified, “I thought you might wish to discuss Jemima.”

            “Miss Kirk’s circumstances have proved worthy of extensive consideration.” Spock began, “Mother, you once informed me that it was not acceptable for humans to bond in childhood, as Vulcans do. Though it was irrelevant to me once it was discovered I could not bond with T’Pring, I understood it to be logical upon the basis of Terran cultural mores.”

            “You have a _t’hy’la_ , Spock.” Mother reminded him, though he needed no such prompting. He’d thought of little else since he’d understood his reaction to Miss Kirk. “It would be logical to grow more comfortable with the term.”

            Spock did not pay her eternal optimism any mind. It was her way, and such emotional suppositions were not the purpose of this conversation. “I have come to the conclusion that Jemima must have a mate. I addressed her as ‘Miss Pike’ and she offered me correction. Her surname is not Pike, but Kirk.”

“Spock, please continue.” The question was evident in Mother’s simple directive.

“However, she remains in her father’s home. Are such arrangements common on Terra? Why would not her spouse seek to provide her with companionship and support, material and otherwise?” Spock came to his conclusion quickly, “I do not believe a bonding should have been permitted if she is being so poorly treated.”

            Mother laughed gently.

            Spock began to rise.

            “Oh, Spock.” Mother reached out to forestall his departure, “I sometimes forget just how traditional Vulcan can be. I do not mean to laugh, but honey…”

            “Mother, I fail to see why I have become an object of ridicule since our arrival here.” Spock nevertheless sat back down, and awaited the return of Mother’s placid composure.

            “I understand your reasoning. It’s very, well, Vulcan.” Mother paused, “Although I do hate to spoil your angst, Spock, her surname is Kirk because that is her mother’s surname. Any explanations must come from her.”

            “I am not experiencing angst.” Spock retorted, “I simply wished to clarify Terran marital customs. I am gratified to understand that marriage, as on Vulcan, is to be entered into upon the basis of mutual support and satisfaction.”

            “I would seek clarification.”  Mother folded her hands with her typical grace, “If Miss Kirk had indeed been Mrs. Kirk, what would you have done?”

            “If she had been satisfied with the arrangement, I would have done all I could to encourage its strength, as any friend should. She has informed me that we are buddies. Even were we not, I would not seek to infringe upon her self-determination.”

            “Spock, she was probably being sarcastic.” Mother ventured, “It is not common for Terrans to offer friendship so freely, despite our willingness to welcome newcomers socially. You did not make the best first impression.”

“No, based on the ensuing conversation, I understood her words to be genuine.” Spock did not tell Mother that he had, indeed, felt Miss Kirk’s mind. Someone had shielded her very strongly. He could feel nothing save what she seemed to be projecting at any given moment. It had unsettled him, and added to his missteps. “However, let us return to your query. If she were not contented with her lot, naturally, I would have invoked _kal-if-fee_ provided that Miss Kirk was agreeable to such an undertaking. In any hypothetical circumstances, her wishes will direct my actions.”

            “Oh, Spock.” Mother’s words were tremulous.                                             

            “Mother, why are you saddened?” Spock reached out to pat her arm, “You must remember that the bond Jemima and I share is not uniform. I spoke merely in the hypothetical. We will decide rationally, logically, and carefully how to define our interactions.”

            “Please don’t hold yourself to that high ideal of logic, Spock.” Mother sought his gaze, and Spock saw the earnest hope in her eyes. No matter what she asked of him, he could never deny her. “Do what makes you both happy. That’s all I want.”

            Spock decided not to remind her that most Terran mothers did not encourage their sons to make emotional decisions when it came to life choices of an interpersonal nature. Offering them her trust in this moment, he knew, was no small gesture.

            “I am…” Spock fumbled for words to convey his emotional state. It was not something he did regularly, but certainly it was more than logical in this moment. What Mother required for her mental wellness was never illogical.  To expect her to be Vulcan was illogical. To treat her as though she had the same  needs as Father was equally absurd.

            “I am more confused than I have ever been in my life, but I am…comforted by the knowledge that the mind that calls to mine belongs to a being that is far more vibrant than I could have ever supposed.” Spock added, “To know that she exists, and has some measure of self-actualization is enough.”

            “You’re happy to have found each other.” Mother summarized, yet more tears gathering in her eyes.

            What comes in time will come.” Spock concluded, his Standard losing fluidity as he tried to elaborate. “I cannot predict it, but I can say that I never expected this. It is enough. So much of discontentment in is rooted in not knowing when you have found that which you have for so long hoped.”           

            “You are wise, Spock.” Mother folded him into a hug.

            Spock did not feel particularly wise, but some very deep part of him felt loved.

*          *          *

**JTK: Spock**

**JTK: Open your window.**

**JTK: Windy out here. You live in a desert. EMPATHY.**

**Restricted: Miss Kirk? How did you obtain my contact details?**

**JTK: I have ways. Many. Open. Window.**

**Restricted: It is warm for a late afternoon in late July in San Francisco.**

**JTK: I AM ON YOUR LEDGE YOU POTATO.  THERE ARE VULCANS/PEOPLE WITH PHASERS EVERYWHERE. LET ME IN BEFORE I GET SHOT AND YOU GO BANANAS.**

“Nice place you’ve got here.” Jim surveyed Spock’s bedroom as she got off of the floor, and saw that it led out to a private sitting room.

            “Why are you comparing me to a potato and a banana? Also, I repeat my prior query, given that you seem slightly addled.” Spock stood there in his bare feet. His outfit was hung on a closet hook. “How did you obtain my contact details?”

            “No worries. It’s still restricted.” Jim assured him, “I don’t want the Vulcan embassy all up in my business.”

            “I regret to inform you that a file has already been compiled.” Spock revealed, “You also have an ongoing security assessment.”

            “What?” Jim let her eyes skate down his body, forcing herself not to linger on planes and dips that were plainly evident under his t-shirt and lounge pants. “Little old me? What could I do to you?”

            “You misunderstand.” Spock quickly went around and shut all of his doors, “The security assessment is intended for your ongoing protection. There are factions on both Earth and Vulcan who object to the Federation, and still others who have more personal objections to my family. To me.”

            Jim did not ask why matters of security came before a discussion with her. Now wasn’t the time. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going out.”

            “The gala does not begin for another 1.37 hours, though I see you are already dressed.” Spock made no mention of how nice she looked in this vintage gown. They’d have to work on that, in the future, because if she was going to go to the trouble of getting dressed up, the least he could do was say, “You do not look like a manatee,” or something thereof.  

            Jim grabbed the bag she’d tossed inside the window when he’d opened it. “I’m going to fix that.” She looked around at all of the doors, “Which one is the bathroom?”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “Bathroom.” Jim began to open the doors, finding firstly Spock’s closet, and then the en suite. “Here we go.”

            She turned around in the doorway to find Spock gaping at her. “What? I don’t know you well enough to strip down in front of you. And even if I were up for it, I’ve got a shapeware situation going on under here. You understand, I’m sure.”

            Jim snickered as she shut the door, leaving Spock standing there, blank faced but horrified and utterly baffled. He was still rooted to the same spot in his bedroom when she exited the bathroom, ball gown stuffed inelegantly in her backpack.

            “Terra to Spock?” Jim asked, “Why haven’t you gotten dressed yet? Loafing about while I was getting ready isn’t a very efficient use of time. I’m all for being lazy, but we’ve got places to be and people to see, Spock.”

            “I am unable to follow your logic.” Spock finally came online again. “We are expected to attend the gala tonight as a show of unity between our governments. Admiral Lawson will be expecting us.”

            “You leave Admiral Lawson to me.” Jim resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “Come on. Jeans. T-shirt. Jacket.”

            Quickly, Jim let herself into Spock’s closet. “Vulcan. Vulcan. Vulcan. Vulcan. Very Vulcan. Aha!” She seized a pair of jeans and opened the drawer below them to find a collection of shirts. Clearly, Dr. Greyson had good taste. “These’ll do.”

            She shoved the bundle at Spock, who stumbled into the bathroom. “Get dressed. I’ll handle logistics.”

            “This is highly irregular.” Spock called through the closed door. “I understand that you do not mean for us to attend the gala. I must inform you that preparations have been made that absolutely require our attendance.”

            Even so, he came out dressed in the clothing she’d picked for him. Jim threw his syntho-leather jacket at him, and picked up the stylus attached to the screen propped open on his dresser.

            “Dear Mom,” she narrated as she wrote.

            “Mother.” Spock corrected, coming to stand beside her a peer over the notepad.

            She quickly corrected it. “Dear Mother, I have decided to spend my evening exploring our local environs in an attempt to better understand relevant Terran social customs. I will return. –Spock of Vulcan.

            “Is that note meant to be an approximation of my speaking voice?” Spock asked, “Mother will know that I did not write it, and rightly conclude that you have been in my bedroom.”

            “Your mom would totally be okay with that, trust me.” Jim glanced around, and kicked her bag under Spock’s bed, “Let’s go.”

            “I will contact Mr. Hendorff.” Spock pulled out his PADD. “He is my Protection Officer on Terra. He will accompany us.”

            “No. Just. No.” Jim opened the window, and stuck her feet out over the ledge, “Come on, already. We’re late.”

*          *          *

            “I have never before been obliged to evade my own security detail.” Spock informed Jemima as they ran down the block outside of the Embassy. “I ask that you explain to me the need for such drastic measures.”

            Jemima Kirk, however, did not offer him a response. Instead, she herded him bodily onto a bus just as it was pulling away from the stop. She took it upon herself to pay his fare, and would not allow him to compensate her.

            “It is in no way appropriate for you to pay my fare, as I am capable of paying for my own seat upon this transport.” Spock tried to outline his position very logically, but Jemima was not inclined to allow him to do so.

            “Yeah, yeah.” Jemima leaned against the back of the seat they shared. “Now shush, I use this time to get ready.”

            Spock was glad that she had at least permitted him to sit in the seat closest to the aisle. He did not intend to downplay her competency, but such stock gestures were helpful in this stage of courtship, at least until they determined which were relevant given the disparity in their cultures. The bus moved quickly through the city, up and down hills, down side streets, and up main roads.

            Spock studied Jim as they rode the bus, and found that the lulling motion of the transport calmed him to the degree that he began to feel Jemima’s mind. Likely, it was their physical contact that enabled the connection. Her shoulders brushed his own. The psionic impressions coming from Jim became stronger and more directed, and despite himself, Spock knew that he could not allow himself to know her mind without her express consent.

            “Miss Kirk?” Spock noted that his voice was considerably rougher than he had intended.

            Something warm and delighted brushed along his consciousness. It insisted that he call her Jim, and failing that, Jemima.

            Spock forced himself to remember that Jim herself was likely psi-null. Mental communication between them would only be possible during a meld. He would have to speak to a healer once he returned to Vulcan regarding the psionic rebound echoing through their bond. Spock felt something like terror echo down the bond, and reminded himself that leaving Terra would not come for some time.

            They came to a stop at a rather bustling corner before he could mention to Jemima that they needed to speak. There were small shops and places of business filled with activity just beyond the bus. He made a traditional gesture of thanks to the bus driver, who returned it easily. Such cultural literacy surprised him, but before he could engage the driver in discourse, Jim urged him onward.

            Spock joined her on the sidewalk, and carefully walked beside her as her pace required that he be aware of the differences in gravity on Terra. “I have in no way inquired as to our destination. However, I must do so now. Your haste is worthy of comment.”

            “I promise I will answer questions later.” Jemima waved to someone who called out to her. “But for now, Rodney’s expecting us. The people here, Spock, they’re very human. Please remember that, okay?”

            “I do not expect that humans should in any way become Vulcan.” Spock took in the smell of heavy spices floating on the breeze, potently cutting across the noise of traffic and the jostle of the city’s crowds. “Nor do I ask that Vulcans become Human. _Kaiidth_ , Jemima.”

            “What is, is.” Jemima translated, “Do you honestly believe that? That we can’t create change? That we can’t be in a constant state of growth, or at least flux?”

            Before Spock could reply, Jemima’s attention was pulled away from him as a chorus of voices cried out, “Hey, Jim!” and other variations of exclamation all intended to convey greeting.

            Spock took in their surroundings as Jim led him towards a side door to a large kitchen. The sign above the door offered free meals three times a day to anyone, an attendee of the Center or not. It seemed that most of the people gathering in the dining area were suffering from severe economic deprivation in a way those who were gathering for support did not.

On Vulcan, such disparities of wealth did not exist. While some clans certainly had a great deal of resources, all people were provided with what was required to live, either through access to gainful employment, education, or support if they were infirm or otherwise vulnerable. Those who had need for one reason or another had them met almost universally.  

            The moment they crossed the threshold, a deep voice called out, “You’re late, Jimmy!”

            The man never stopped moving as he moved up and down the food line, checking various dishes with clean spoons he pulled from the pocket of a voluminous smock.  

            “Spock, Rodney.” Jim glanced between them, “Rodney, Spock.”

            “I greet you, and offer you the use of my name.” Spock raised a _ta’al._ “How may I assist you in your undertaking?”

            “Go with Jim to help her mind the babies during parents’ support group.” Rodney drawled, his slow, deep, voice quite at odds with the pace at which he moved and observed his surroundings. “I’m sure she’s already figured out how to boss you around.”

            “I am amenable to her directives, almost universally.” Spock affirmed, “I did object to leaving the Embassy via a second-floor window when there was a perfectly functional staircase nearby.”

            “Well.” Rodney, “I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.”

            “You do that.” Jim smiled, showing her teeth in a way that reminded Spock of a _le_ - _matya_. “Come on, Spock.”

             “Why would Rodney pretend as though he did not hear me?” Spock asked, as they headed out through the back of the large kitchen and wove through hallways bustling with humans, only to stop at a door decorated with flowers. “The kitchen is not so loud that such a pretense would even begin to be plausible.”

            “Spock, you just told a mandated a reporter that, essentially, you ran away from home.” Jim shook her head as she flipped on the lights, illuminating brightly colored walls decorated with children’s artwork. “Don’t worry, though, he’s got bigger fish to fry than the First Son of the House of Surak running around San Francisco with the only genius level offender in the Midwest.”

            Spock did not tell Jim that his ‘running away’ from his security detail without the prior knowledge and consent of his parents and his government, was, in fact, a ‘big fish.’ He was toeing the line between teenage rebellion and interplanetary incident. Spock decided it was logical to be here. He had come to Terra to serve, and it was here that he could be of service. Grandmother would see his logic, if it came to that. “Worry is illogical.”

            Jim crossed the room and turned on a portal. It was built into the wall, but could be raised or lowered. “Why’s that, now?”

            “There is nothing to fear regarding truth.” Spock watched as Jim scanned her thumb against the screen, “Again, I ask you, how may I assist you?”

            “When the parents drop off their kids,” Jim decided, “Thank the parents, scan the baby’s thumb, affirm their identity, and bring them over to me. Sound good?”

            “I am confident in my ability to execute the tasks assigned to me.” Spock agreed, though he soon found that it was not so easy. On Vulcan, children waited in an orderly fashion, silently preparing for their turn to be placed into the oversight of care workers.

            Here, though, children jumped and ran. Some tried to skip ahead once they saw “Miss Jim” and still others protested the very finite separation from their bearers and sires.

            It soon became clear that “Miss Jim” was responsible for the care of six infant humans, all under a year of age. He, too, felt a responsibility to each child and parent. Each and every one of these parents were traumatized, very deeply. The infants simply projected the echoes of pain that suggested one of their close relatives had been lost or hurt. Spock tried to respect their mental privacy, but they had no shields whatsoever and his own shields were overwhelmed by the multitudes of pain.

            As soon as this realization crossed her mind, something warm and soft enveloped his mind. It was unmistakably Jemima, softness, light, humor and joy. She was literally enveloping his entire psyche. When he mentally insisted that such a thing should not be possible at this time between them, unvoiced laughter skittered down his spine.

            Their eyes met across the room, and the feeling of complete and utter safety retreated slightly. Jim remained only on the surface of his mind. How desperately he wanted to discuss the implosion of everything he had assumed, but no such discussion was possible in their current circumstances.

            As Jim settled the infants into various activities appropriate for their developmental age, four more children appeared in the doorway. Spock had begun to wonder if he should assist Jemima in minding the children, and was consequently not expecting further additions to the group.

            These children were of various ages and unaccompanied by an adult. “May I assist you in finding your assigned locations?” Spock felt an affinity for these young ones, though he knew not why. Their minds were remarkably attuned to his, in such a way that spoke to—

            Familial bonds.

            Spock turned to face Jim as she turned to face the children. Her mind called out, and the children grinned and rushed towards her in a flurry of voices and emotion.

            Parental bonds.  They were parental bonds, not merely familial. They were brilliant and beautiful. Spock could feel them, could see them blossom in his mind as though he was being permitted to join into something sacred. He was shaken by the knowledge, by the realization, that Jim was bonded to these children. Certainly, she had not given them life, but she had sustained it. Her mind and soul had cuddled these small beings close, and welcomed them into her heart. Some part of him knew with unassailable certitude that she had bled and suffered to keep them whole and safe.   

The eldest boy, knobby-kneed and be bespectacled, stopped just sort of embracing Jim as he handed her the infant, this one older than the babies in the room by about a year. Spock understood his aborted gesture. He had not hugged Jim for the same reasons Spock did not hug Mother around Father or his friends.

            Spock realized, through a haze, that he was being addressed. The concern on Jim’s face was as evident as the tendrils of concern enveloping his mind. “Spock?”

            “I apologize.” He offered a ta’al, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Hello?”

            “Spock…” Jim clearly grasped the turn of his thoughts, “This is Kevin.” She rested her hand on the first boy’s shoulder. Kevin grinned at him, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

            She brushed her hand around the fuzzy skull of the pudgy infant, who grabbed the front of her top with starfish hands, “Isobel.”

            She set Isobel down on the play mat beside her, and sank down to the floor to continue entertaining her charges.

            The other little girl had recently lost several teeth. She had wild hair and a mind that danced around his own awareness. “I’m Saskia!”

            “I’m T’Meuae.” The little girl was not Vulcan, but Romulan. She held his gaze for a long moment before inclining her head, “I greet you.”

            As soon as Spock returned the gesture, Saskia and Kevin began to regale Jim with everything they had done in the past day. They held Jim’s attention while she cautioned them to be mindful of the younger ones. It was a timely reminder as the human baby on Jim’s left, Geoff, had begun to lift his head from the mat in a futile effort to reach the stuffed starship dangling above his head.

Saskia jumped around an omitted a good one-third of every sentence in excitement and haste, and Kevin spoke so quickly Spock wondered if the child would faint for lack of oxygen.

            Spock did not notice T’Meuae moving until she was stood beside him. “Your mind seeks mine earnestly.”

            “I apologize.” Spock assured her, unsure how he was to explain himself to a child. He tried to pull away, but found it impossible. In that instant, Jim was there with them mentally, guarding T’Meuae even as she gave no attention to their conversation. It was the way of parents to be very aware of the bonds formed by their children, even subconsciously.

            “You need not explain.” T’Meuae answered his thoughts with words. “I understand. In time, Jim will explain all that you misunderstand.”

            Spock considered the notion that he had misunderstood something. “I understand the circumstances perfectly. I have no intention of contesting the bonds you have formed, T’Meuae. I would seek only to encourage them in any way I am able. You are family.”

            She studied him very carefully. “Many have tried to disrupt our bonds. I will not allow it.”

            “Your mind is your own.” Spock affirmed, “It is your right to defend your bonds. I would caution you to remember that, as a child, you have the support of those around you should you require it. I am at your service.”

            T’Meuae considered his words. “I do not require assistance at this time.”

            “You need only ask.” Spock allowed the matter to come to a close, satisfied that his points had been understood.

            “Likewise.”

            With that, T’Meuae turned, and took up her place beside Jim, her small hand gripping Jim’s shirt hem. Spock found himself thinking of Mother, and wondering if the bonds she had formed with Sybock and T’Aria and the others still ached.

            Spock, having many cousins, found it simple enough to mind the babies who were resting in pods designed for that purpose. There were only two such infants, and within an interval of nineteen minutes, they awoke. Spock placed them on the mat with their peers. Such shared activity was mentally stimulating and socially important.

            They all formed a loose circle on the carpet around the outside of the baby mats. Saskia enticed Kevin and T’Meuae into a game of Terran cards involving a fishing metaphor.

            “Gentle, Isobel.” Jim admonished, when she reached out to touch one of the babies that had found his way onto Jim’s lap. “I don’t think Henry wants your cereal. He doesn’t have teeth yet.”

            Spock’s gaze sharpened as he saw movement just outside the door. He rose just as it began to open.

            The room’s atmosphere changed palpably. Spock positioned himself easily as Rodney opened the door and entered into the bright room, bringing with him a pall. T’Meuae reached out, and Spock felt her irritation rise above a tendril of trepidation.  Spock felt his larynx opening. He drew a breath, and felt it move differently in his body.

            “You know you four aren’t supposed to be here.” Rodney did not ask Jim’s permission to address them, nor did he so much as greet her. “Clean up the game, and we’ll get you back to your groups.”

            Spock tensed. He felt his body grow tight. He had never truly understood the reasoning behind certain elements of his physiology, but everything seemed perfectly clear, now. In this moment, facets of himself that he had carefully dismissed as vestigialrose to the fore. He of course remembered that he was driven by logic, even as that voice rising in the back of his mind assured him that there was nothing more logical than the defense of his family.

            “Rodney, come on.” Jim sighed and exchanged a speaking glance with Rodney, before turning to look at the children. “No dice, guys. Let’s get things put away.”

            “No.” Kevin declared, “This is stupid. I don’t want to go with Aunt Carrie. I want to stay here.”

            “Yes.” T’Meuae insisted, “We have formed our own group.”

            Jim rose and set Henry down before picking up an uneasy Isobel. “Don’t make Rodney the bad guy. We know the rules, and we broke them. I’ll see you all Saturday, won’t I?”

            “That’s days away!” Saskia retorted, her small hands landing on her hips. “You’re making T’Meuae sad!”

            “Is T’Meuae sad,” Jim sought clarification gently, “Or are you sad? It’s okay to be sad, Saskia.”

            “Both.” Saskia decided, and reached out to her Romulan _ko-kai._ The two girls stood together, their physical connection sending a flare of energy through their bond.

            “Jimmy, did you give them snacks again?” Rodney asked, peering over at the table that held an open box of dried fruits, a box of dry cereal, and some granola. “I know you know you shouldn’t.”

            Spock bit back a snarl. How dare this interloper dictate to her? How dare he come into a place she had claimed as her own, and instruct her on the care of these small ones? Were not their minds whole and vibrant, largely shielded from the damage so many others here retained? Were not their eyes clear, their small bodies well-fed?

            “I’m not talking about this in front of them.” Jim insisted, glancing around the room. “Look, I get it. I screwed up. I’ve been dealing with a lot today. I just needed—”

            Rodney held up a hand. “We can talk about this later, Jim. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know you’re trying.” He reached out, and stepped forward, “Give me Isobel, and I’ll take her back where she belongs. I’ll take them all back.”

            Jim brushed her hand along Kevin’s shoulders, patted Saskia’s head, and let T’Meuae brush her fingers along her psi-points.

            Spock felt their pain rushing through him. It was unacceptable on every level. This could not be allowed to come to pass.

            “Spock.” Jim whispered his name, as she tried in vain to detach Isobel’s chubby arms from around her arms amid the child’s cries of distress. “ _Nam'uh hayal_. He cares about them.” 

            Utter calmness flooded his mind. Calm down? Why? Oh. The tones rising from his vocal folds had come down across eons with little change to their meaning or intent. Spock exhaled, glad that he sounded like himself once more as they shared this aside. _“Ple'ma tsu rashaya, k'diwa?”_

Kevin, T’Meuae, and Saskia seemed to understand that they had found an advocate in Spock, because they lingered by the door, even as Rodney insisted they go. They waved in farewell, and Spock reciprocated.

            Jemima followed the direction his gaze, and sighed. _“Nam'uh ralash-fam, sanoi, Spock.”_

            “Get a move on, guys.” Jim insisted, bluntly, though they all knew her heart wasn’t in it. Her eyes were forlorn, and her mind, once so warm and soft around him, felt jagged and molten.

“ _Fa-wak tor ish-veh ra karthau.”_ Spock asserted, well aware that Rodney wanted to know what was being said between them, even as he strained to hear them. He would return Isobel and the others to Jim.

            _“Au ri tor bolaya wuh nagaya.”_ Jim told him, before speaking in a normal tone directly to the children, “Go.”

            Spock exhaled. He would abide by Jemima’s understanding of the situation. His own understanding would come in time.            

            “Jim, did you bond with him?” Rodney stared at Jemima, as though he had no notion of what Spock would do to those who dared threaten her.

            “I’m not talking about this right now.” Jim insisted.

Rodney took two steps back as Isobel quieted against Rodney. Jemima had manipulated their bond, as many mothers did to mollify their babies in public places on Vulcan. “I didn’t have a chance to explain, yet.”

            “Do it.” Rodney’s voice gained an edge of command. “I’ll send someone to take care of the babies. You go somewhere and talk. Comm me if you need me.”

            Jim shocked him into clarity. Her hand on his arm grounded him to reality.

            The silence pulsed between as Rodney studied them for a long moment before shutting the door.

            Spock stared down at his hands. His nails had dug gouges into his palm. Blood was smeared on his trousers where his hands had hung by his sides, evidence of control he had come within a heartbeat of losing.

*          *          *

            They were sitting in front of their meals at the booth at the 24-hour diner Jim loved before she got up the guts to speak. Here, they had an allergen-friendly kitchen and lots of choices. “Have you heard of Tarsus IV?”

            Jim was glad they’d stopped by a nearby thrift store. She’d gotten something new for the hell of it. She knew Spock had been distracted by the blood on his trousers, and so she’d fixed it as simply as she had regenerated his hands. She was too used to problems like these.

 He had never once been inside a thrift store, but pronounced them eminently logical. She liked this one because it was slightly curated. All of the clothing was washed before they left the store, which meant she could wear it without risking death, or itchy skin.

            “Yes, of course.” Spock ate his stolen French fry carefully. “My father was involved in the humanitarian aid offered to survivors. My grandmother has visited the site, and is involved with plans for a memorial center. Given the psionic resonance of the planet, I was forbidden from becoming involved.”

            Jim exhaled. At least she didn’t have to give him basic details. She was glad he had been protected. No one had protected her, but she was glad all the same that he knew so little of something that had defined her reality for so long. The two thoughts were paradoxical, but who cared? She didn’t.

            “Rodney and several other psychologists started the Center for the families of people who were slaughtered on Tarsus, and for other survivors.” Jim looked at her veggie burger and lifted the bun to at least pretend to have some interest in her food, “I ensured that eight children survived.”

            Spock sipped his water, “How did you come to be involved with the Center?”

            “Spock, you’re not hearing me.” Jim paused, and looked at him, just to remember his visage before she shattered some part of his innocence and belief in the universe, “I survived Tarsus.”

            “No.” Spock’s denial was borne of emotion. What he knew was telling him she had lived through hell. What he would never know was that it had been worse than even his logical mind could envision.

            “I survived Tarsus IV. I’m okay.” Jim tried to reach out for him mentally, but found that he was unconsciously building a wall in his mind, trying to pull her pain behind it. She understood, but she would never lock Tarsus away. She wasn’t going to let Kodos write history. “I am okay. I’m healthy again. I survived, and no amount of wishing otherwise will change it. Trust me. Don’t try.”

            Spock exhaled, and reached out mentally, the wall crumbling. Jim shoved a huge burst of comfort forward in her mind, and relaxed further as Spock made the conscious choice to welcome it within himself.  

            “And the children…” Spock ventured, sobered after a long moment of centering himself.

            “I was sent to Tarsus to school because I have a very high psi-rating. Mom’s ex, Frank, started in on me, well, let’s just leave it at I left Iowa after acting out because of what he did.” Jim so wished this conversation could have taken place after she had made plain her knowledge of their connection. Fucking around to see him startle and smile hadn’t prepared either of them for this discussion. “When I took the children you met into hiding, spontaneous familial bonds formed. I’ve been trying to help them re-bond with their surviving families.”

            Spock processed this quickly. “They’re resisting.”

            “Subconsciously, so am I.” Jim put the top back on her burger, “The only reason we’re doing it this way is because one of the families took their kids back, and forcibly had the bonds severed. I did what I could to protect Isobel and the others, but I—”

            Jim faltered. She didn’t know how to put that into words. She had put them through that pain, and so protecting them had been only right. Even so, she knew she had failed. That knowledge kept her up most nights when things were bad.

            “Would a meld be preferable to verbalizing that which is so painful?”

            “No.” Jim shook her head, “I’m not letting your mind anyplace near all of that, not for a very long time. You deserve better.”

            “You place too much importance on the initial meld.” Spock studied his salad, “It would be the first of many to follow. In no way would it define our mental connection.”

            Spock was so certain. Jim could not share in that certitude. He would soon see the blackness within her, but she certainly wasn’t going to take him on a guided tour.

            “As to your erroneous assertion that I deserve better, I must debase you of that notion.” Spock’s gaze burrowed into her soul, “I never even thought to expect you.”

            “Spock.” Jim exhaled, “What, did you think your t’hy’la would have been psi-null, unable to meet your needs, or enable you to meet theirs? You are, fundamentally, a deeply emotional being. You’re just working on finding a way to express them that works for you, being both Vulcan and Human. So.” Jim waved a hand in front of herself, “Mega-empath who would drive a psi-null being without developed emotional control up the wall.”

            “You know.” Spock seemed so utterly confused that Jim wondered for a second if she had really burst his bubble.

            “What, do you think I communicate mentally with just anybody?” Jim grabbed a fry and pointed it at Spock, “I’m good, Spock, but even I’m not that good. You opened a door, and I walked in, same as I did for you. So, like, don’t go telling anybody some mystical bond made you pick me. You did that all by yourself, and I personally think you must be insane. But hey, pots and lids. Who am I to judge?”

            “What is your rating?” Spock asked, his salad utterly forgotten.

            “It doesn’t matter.” Jim dissembled, “Anyway, after the Webster’s had the bonds severed, I was back in the hospital for a few weeks. The severance was not easy.”

            “On Vulcan, forcibly severing a parental bond is—”

            “Spock, I consented. The kids had an advocate, everything.” Jim broke into his impassioned horror, “I did what was best for Wren and Claire. It was a reaction to trauma for them, not a choice. They had a father on Earth. Talk about a Mommy and Me vacation to see their grandparents gone wrong. He’s psi-null, and anyway…” Jim voiced a truth it taken her months to accept, “having it severed was right. They’re doing okay. Chris keeps tabs for me.”

            “I grieve with thee, Jemima.” Spock said, and she felt his empathy in her very core.  

            Jim inclined her head, slightly, and had a brilliant idea in the glow of their shared comfort. “Hey, so do you want to get out of here?”

            Spock followed the line of her thoughts easily, “I draw the line at felonies. I have diplomatic immunity. You do not, and I refuse to live in something so lacking in logical amenities as a Terran correctional facility.”

            “Pike’d hire me a good lawyer.” Jim promised. After all, he had before.

            Spock sighed, and reached for the check. “Save your funds for bail, in that case. One cannot expect too much generosity from one’s parents.”

*          *          *

            After about an hour, Spock stopped wondering if what they were doing was legal. He knew it wasn’t. As morning approached, he found the legality of their undertaking was mere technicality. Jemima’s genius, as vexing as she could be, could not be confined. Upon reflection, he was gratified to know that she had limited the parameters to the incoming Plebes, rather than publishing all of the exam keys. She declared the mere regurgitation of knowledge beneath a member of Starfleet, even a mere Plebe, and he was inclined to agree. Coming to this conclusion had taken some hours of stimulating debate.

            Plebes would be moving into the dorms in two weeks. Jim had procured all of the problem sets that would be handed out during Welcome Week as part of Orientation.

            Together, they solved each and every problem set. It took hours not only to solve the problem sets, but to design the ruse. Spock joined in if only to provide a voice of reason, as he understood the fundamental goals of this undertaking, and found them laudable. If it came to it, he would work to protect Jemima from the most devastating consequences of her actions. Certainly, that was biased. It was also logical.

             Jemima had arranged it so that every Cadet would discover the answers in their Welcome Week datasets. She carefully crafted a letter that instructed to use Welcome Week to figure out which Plebe had hacked the system, solved the problems, and distributed the answers. Moreover, they had to write a paper about their rationale. They were instructed outline how the deed had been accomplished, and the motivations thereof. Then, they were deliver their papers in hardcopy at exactly 16:57:44 as a group to the Commandant, all the while saying nothing to the professors, whom they were led to believe were all in on the undertaking.

            There was, of course, no right answer. When he asked why they were doing this, Jim replied, “Well, this way, they’ll develop as a unit. Get to know one another, and figure out who to trust. And, you know, I get to fuck with Pike. He’ll know it was me, but he won’t ever be able to prove it.”

            “No one in this situation would rightly, as Mother says, point the finger at a fellow classmate.” Spock insisted, gathering up the PADDs they’d used as Jemima closed down the terminal.

            “Of course not.” Jemima agreed, “That’s the whole point. They’ll say they did it, or refuse to implicate anyone.”

            “Do not pretend to hold a lofty philosophical position on the matter.” Spock advised, “You simply wish to see Commandant Pike coping with the disruption you will cause.”

            “Maybe they’ll all work together to make up a fake cadet rather than blame themselves.” Jemima posited, rising from the terminal. “If someone thought of it, they could make up records easily.”

            “Altering records within Starfleet carries with it a sentence in the brig, Jemima.”

            “I’ve got a Ph.D. and another one in progress. I know how to research.” Jim smiled winningly as they exited the lab, “They can’t lock up a minor. Providing, of course, the hypothetical minor in question is caught.”

            Spock sighed, and pinched the ridge of his nose. “My sole aim today was to obtain a book.”

            “I’m not sorry.” Jim spun in a wide circle in front of him as they walked across the campus towards the Commandant’s home on the hill.

            Spock did not reply. He knew better than to actually agree with her. She’d pick an argument for the sake of it, and he had no desire to quibble over the exact shades present in the sunrise.

            “You won’t get a late fee.” Jim walked backwards in front of him, as wellspring of energy that even he, as a Vulcan, found horrifying. He would never sleep again, of this he was sure. “Mrs. Wentzler loves me. She’s not the only one, though.”

            “Certainly not.” Spock sniffed, “I am certain that by the time we return to the Commandant’s home, that Mr. Hendorff will have asked your father for your hand. Our actions tonight will no doubt have endeared you to him.”

            “Shut up, he's a big cupcake of a man, and he loves me.” Jim screwed up her face in a farce of a grin. “Dr. and Mr. Cupcake. We’ll register at Bloomingdale’s. I could really use some new towels, come to think on it. Some, er, caught fire last week.”

            “Were you conducting an experiment?” Spock ventured, finding a logical bend in this conversation.

            “Yeah, but it wasn’t that that caught them on fire.” Jim proceeded to outline her work on a theoretical substance called Carbomite that could reduce, in theory, their reliance on nuclear energy. She concluded, “I tried to heat a Belgian waffle in a standard width toaster and then putting it out with my towel. Not my best moment.”

            She had been eating in a sterile lab. Spock picked his battle, as was only logical, and queried, “I trust your experiment was not harmed?”

            “Actually, the temperature variance helped…” 

As they walked home in the dawning morning, they debated the finer points of experiment design. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's another scene or two involving Spock Prime and a press conference, but adding it messed with the ending. I may post if you guys want a bit of meaningless dream-induced fluff.


End file.
